Elevenses
by Chlo Chlo
Summary: It always happens, on the dot at 11pm.


JANUARY 10th

_Hey you. Yeah, you. I know I'm talking to a diary, but someone has to listen to me._

_I'm Richard. I'm 39. I live in a tiny flat slap bang in the middle of town. If you could call it town. It's a bloody wreck for a start, almost deserted in the day and rough as fuck in the nights. Seems like everybody's moved out to the country, and left us poorer, 'rougher' folk to roam about. And you, my Moleskine friend, I christen you Tom. You're going to be the only record of my difficult life.  
I can't give too much away at this stage of the game, but I do have a job. I work for a place called 'Elevenses' on the night shift. It's not your average night shift, I'm telling you now. It's gritty, takes a man who has no conscience and isn't fazed by the heavies. I don't love my job; it's more of a necessity than a passion. After my raucous time on Top Gear ended, the fame shrivelled until I ended up where I am now. I'd love to see Jeremy and James again, catch up with them, have a smoke and chat bollocks like we always did. I miss those guys. They were brilliant friends, unlike the dicks I have to rely on now. Anyway, back to the job. The rules are simple, as there are only two. One, you do as the Boss tells you. Two, you keep your job under wraps. If you spill, then the Boss spills. Spills your blood, that is. In return for following these two rules, I get the flat, and my prized car which is miraculously still outside on the kerb. I love my Quattro; it's so understated, so retro in today's times. It's one of the only things I live for these days._

_Life used to be so good back in the old days. I had the lot; a wife, two kids, a barn load of cars and producers clawing at my feet for my talents. Naturally, with the demise of 'The World's Best Motoring Show' comes the demise of demand. I was used goods, my talents useless without the fame to back me up. When I became housebound, I was bored. Drink kept my hands busy, as I couldn't use them any other way. A year later, the whole cornflake packet family fell apart. I departed to look for some hope in my life. The kids I haven't seen since. They used to be so proud of their Daddy; he was Superman. But his big 'S' badge got washed down the drain as he filled himself to his back teeth with all the whisky and beer he could lay his hands on. When I think about that now I feel so ashamed. I was such a good father, but I put myself first, and here we are._

_Believe it or not, a guy like me still has hopes, dreams and wishes. A nice girl would be a start. Like any man, my eye wanders when I see a hot girl walking down the street, but I know she would hate my job. I'm sick of peeking at Page 3 of the local rag to get my kicks in the lone hours of the morning. Maybe if I had some sort of companion; a pet, perhaps. That could help. Except for the shagging part, that's just disgusting.  
Above all, I'd love to get out of this job, to get out of this way of living. I'd love to become an author again. My mind is crammed full of ideas; it would be if you had bugger all to do all day. If only I could be arsed to write them all down, but I'm lacking the motivation._

_As I write this, the sun's setting, and my stomach is rumbling with it. Therefore, I will have to leave for now._

_So there we are, Tom. I'm Richard. Pleased to meet you._

Later

_Ah, the night has fallen. And with it comes my lovely return to work. Brilliant. I suppose it's been a break, sitting around watching television all day and night. I hate going into town at Christmas. Those shops that do bother getting festive just remind us all of those posh bastards living out among the hedges, and how much better off they are.  
Enough about them. I have a job to do..._

Richard's eyes wandered down the dimly lit street. His eyesight walked the length of the street until the edge was swallowed by the darkness. His peaceful corner appeared the same as it always did; the late night diner to his left, the rows of identical houses behind him, and another solitary street leading to his right. He leaned on the cold metal of the lamppost, wriggling his shoulder blades to improve his comfort. The blaring light shone bluntly on fronds of his hair; it also glinted on the face of his watch as he glanced at it. Obviously restless, he put his head against the post, shivering somewhat excitedly at the cold sensation. He drew his hands out of his deep pockets, and folded his arms across his chest. Snuggling deeper into his long, black leather jacket, he closed his eyes lightly. For a moment, he focused on the noises around him. A cat mewed from a back alley, followed by an aggressive shout not too far away. He just wanted to pass the time. The job ahead of him was so familiar; he didn't have the capacity for nerves anymore.

Still waiting, Richard absent-mindedly dragged the toe of his Converse back and forth along the pavement, mulling over the scene of what was soon to happen in his mind. He pulled a neatly folded clip of paper from his pocket, and studied it carefully. The three words on it were written in capitals with blue ink. As he slipped it back into his pocket, his finger rubbed against the other, much more sinister item in his pocket. He smiled wickedly as he rubbed the smooth, plastic object, imagining the damage it could do. Looking at his watch for the final time, he took a quick, deep breath. It was time.

One brisk walk to the end of the road, and he was there. The entrance to the alleyway, where work beckoned. He could just see the outline of the first rubbish bin, no doubt covered with fresh graffiti from the Christmas period. He edged his way into the narrow alley, his feet crunching on shards of glass and kicking countless mounds of rubbish. As usual, it reeked of smoke, way beyond his usual drag in the morning. As Richard rounded the bin, his eyes met the woman he had been looking for. He had been hoping for a hot one. Unfortunately, he had what he called a 'weedy'. She wasn't ugly, but her podgy figure and frizzy brown hair weren't exactly a turn on either. Instantly, he could tell from her stance that she was a beginner, a stranger to acts like this. As her eyes met his, he knew he would have to engage the job.

"You Tracey?" he enquired a little sharply.  
"Yes. I am." she replied in an annoying, squeaky voice.  
"What are ya waitin' for? Drop your pants." he barked.

She moved a little too slowly for his liking. No sooner had she carried out his command, he was wrapping her legs round his waist and forcing himself as hard as he could inside her. Unable to hold his sexual frustration in any longer, his momentum carried him towards the garage door. With an almighty clang, her back banged into the door. She gasped, scraping her nails along his neck repeatedly as he passionately kissed her neck. 'Oh yeah. This is the life.' he thought to himself as he started to hump harder, watching and waiting for the right moment. As their strange love affair threatened to reach it's crescendo, Tracy tilted her head back, her mouth agape. Richard saw his chance. Swiftly, he grabbed the plastic syringe from his pocket, removed himself from Tracey, and forced the syringe into the crook of her mouth as she came sliding back down towards the ground. Immediately, signs of a reaction broke through. Her legs gave way as she clasped her throat, trying to inhale air, but to no avail. Richard looked down at her, cruelly ignoring her desperate snatches at his jeans legs for help. As she choked, nothing stirred inside him. No pleasure, no upset. Just a sense of completion that his task for the night was quickly coming to an end. Within seconds, Tracey's exasperated gasps died down, until her body came to rest among the rubbish and ash carpeting the alley floor.

Haphazardly, he dragged Tracey's body behind him, tugging her over the cobbles and glass. Richard could see the bonnet of the black sedan waiting for him. The rough scraping noise echoed along with the occasional squeaks of Richard's shoes. As he approached the sedan, he started to pant, not used to dragging his victims. His colleague stepped out of the sedan, and surveyed his load with interest.  
"Alright, Rich? First night back, eh?"  
"Yeah. Still a piece of cake though, Gin."  
"Ah well. Ready to hand her over?" Gin extended a spindly hand from his shorter leather jacket, into which Richard slapped the woman's hands.  
"You're welcome to her. She was crap anyway." Richard scowled.  
"So, dropping by HQ tonight?" his friend asked as he pulled the corpse around to the back of the car.  
"Yeah. Might as well, seeing as I'm awake. Dex probably needs me to catch up."  
"Nothing special's happened if that's what you mean." Gin closed the boot with a thunk. "But you better get goin' before Dex goes off shift for the night. I've heard stories about you and Frank."  
"Don't remind he. He doesn't deserve the chair he sits in." Richard rolled his eyes, and raised a hand to Gin, who responded with a tip of his hat.

Placing his hands in his pockets, Richard ambled through the bare streets, pleased that his first job back had been an easy one. He rubbed the back of his neck carefully as it was still sore. As he followed his familiar route to base, he let his eyes examine the cars. Sometimes, his fingers ran down their shiny, darkened sides, leaving marks in the film of grime the owner had worked so proudly on keeping intact. Richard had once been such an advanced being; never happy unless he was busy. Years later, he had learned to appreciate the simpler things in life. Nowadays, they were the only entertainment he got. He wasn't interested in the people he worked with. Gin was probably the closest he had to a friend.  
After his mind has turned over many thoughts, he found himself on Corner Street. HQ. His walk became brisk as he glanced at his watch. He headed for the side of the largest building in the street. He keyed in the code at the door, tapping his foot impatiently as he waited for someone to arrive.  
"Richard! In you come, mate!" a nameless man stood aside as Richard bustled past.  
The interior of the building was basic at best. An assortment of chairs were scattered all around the room, most of them empty. The majority of the room's inhabitants were crowded around a large, polished wooden desk. Most of them looked the same; short jackets, hats at jaunty angles, and cigarettes hanging out of their mouths. They were all giving their undivided attention to a portly version of themselves. He carried a definitive sense of presence and authority as he reclined in his chair, patting his heavily greased hair. He flicked forward as soon as he noticed Richard.

"Rich, my boy! Come in, come in! It's been too long." Dex waved his large hands to motion Richard further inside. "How've you been keepin'?"  
"Fine. Just fine."  
"Good. How was your first port of call?"  
"Piece of cake." Richard replied in the same monotonous tone as he handed his boss the scrap of paper.  
"Brilliant. That's the last time she comes beggin' at this door again." casually, he lit the corner of the paper, and the others cheered as it burned.  
"Did you want anything else?"  
"Well, just to see what was happening. Y'know, see if anything new was going on." Richard shrugged his shoulders half-heartedly.  
"Nothin' apart from the usual, my boy."  
"Alright then. I'll be off, Sir."  
"Adios, mi amigo!"

Richard was just starting to wonder what he was going to do next when he heard the beep of the intercom. As he opened the door, he felt his adrenaline surging.  
"Richard."  
"Frank." he snarled back.  
"Oh, now that's no way to talk to your boss now, is it?"  
"As long as your fat carcass isn't in that chair, I can say whatever the fuck I like to you."  
They squared up to each other. Richard was determined not to back down.  
"You watch your step."  
"I don't need to. My fat head won't roll down the street if I trip." he spat back.  
"You wait til' I tell Dex about this."  
"See if I care. Have fun, fat bastard." Richard pushed his shoulder deliberately into Frank's girth as he passed, hankering for a fight, but wise enough not to pick one on the doorstep of his workplace.  
"What a first night back." he muttered into the now chilly air. He huddled up inside his jacket as he made his way home.

January 11th

_I guess it's time to bend over again. Stick my nose to the stone and all that. I'm gonna need something soon though. My options are narrowing, my patience is wearing thin. I'm getting fed up of the mediocrity. Town is shit, work is shit, prospects are shit. Love life lives in the newspaper. Social life has died. So what can I do? I know this bottle of whisky won't help me, but it's calling my name. Very softly, tempting me to take another swig, to grab hold if its curves and pass it's strong taste past my lips. Just as loudly, my car is purring, asking for a good, hard drive. I think I will. I need to have a long think, plus I need practise for this writing malarkey if I'm ever going to impress anyone._

_Well, here I am. I love The Banks, they're the only place of natural beauty I can find without straying into brown-nose territory. The scenery takes my mind back, back to where I used to be..._

_**Wine (Red)**_

_My girl doesn't know I'm here. She thinks I'm out, making an honest living like I promised I would. Truthfully, I can't be arsed. I crave the profession I had before, I long for the action. Nothing can satisfy me. I know she's gonna find out, but I'll be rat arsed by then. It won't hurt as much as if I'm laid bare and sober. This glass in my hand, it feels my pain. It wants to dilute my pain, wants me to ignore truth and hope. Instead, its leading me down a path to destruction. I know that, but something inside won't let me stop. It latches onto the alcohol, drags it to my mouth. Ha, as if it's a chore to pour myself my tenth glass of wine. Or is it my eleventh?  
She's back. Only one set of feet stamping around out there. The kids are in school, probably glad to get away from their beast of a Daddy. I can count the number of footsteps til' I'm in trouble. 5,4,3,2,1. Door opens.  
"Baby?" she says, taken aback at my presence.  
"Hey babes. Kids alright?" the words stumble together as they fall out of my mouth. They don't mean anything. As if I can even care when I'm this stoned.  
"You lied. Again." I hate it when she sounds so disappointed. It crushes me, makes me feel so small.  
"Babe-"  
"No! I don't want to hear it." she claps her hands over her ears.  
But the absolute worst thing is that her eyes are glazing over. I feel like kicking myself. How many times have I done this? More than there are fingers on my one hand, that's for sure. We break eye contact. We're breaking apart again. It's the same old show over and over again. Each time, we're getting closer to capsizing the boat. We're stranded, out on our own lake of despair. She can swim, and I can't._

_**End**_

_That's better. My mind feels about 5 pounds lighter. I don't think I'm on to a winner with this one, but I shall keep it anyway. There's something... sentimental about it. Maybe it will keep my mind (and my hands!) busy when I'm bored. Which seems to be all the time these days. Thank God I'm not suicidal. That would just be the worst. There's nothing ever worth ending your life for. Not even for your love, as Gary did. He was so full of promise too. Except Diana and her curves led him astray. She was a nice one, but I won't disrespect Gary just for her boobs. He doesn't deserve that._

_Oh look, its Simon and the local whore. Arguing as usual. Right outside my bloody window, too. Why can't they keep their nether regions to themselves? It's not that difficult, for fuck's sake! Just ask me. I might as well join a convent, if I wasn't a murdering man slag.  
Must bid you goodbye for now, Tom. Simon's decided to stick his foot through my letterbox. I could leave him there, but that filthy hobo might find out about my 'job' and spill to the local whore, who also happens to be the local gossip._

_See you. _

Later

_Another day, another mindless murder. Who will it be this time? We'll find out...after the break. If I'm still alive to see it. The weather's taken a turn for the worse, and the heating's conked out again. Bloody hell, how I can write in these gloves is a mystery. Another mystery could be 'Why is Richard Hammond still putting up with 5 tonnes of shit being thrown at him every day?'. For about 3 years, I haven't known another way of living. So instead of whining, I shall bravely soldier on. Now isn't the best of times to be chucked out of your living quarters. My copy of the 'Town Local' would be soaked, and then where could I look at tits? Not that I can see much anyway. This candle is holding up pretty well, considering it's so cold I'm probably a prune right now, and that's no good in my profession. Think there's time for a quick warm up, and then I better get off to work._

Richard was grateful to arrive at the late night diner. He stepped into the warm, slightly stale air that filled the inside, immediately feeling it's effects. He draped the tails of his jacket over the bar stool, and swivelled to face the tender.  
"Can I help you?" his voice rumbled.  
"Just tea." Richard replied gruffly.  
He moved to an empty table in the corner of the diner. He slid right down into his plastic seat, propping his legs up on the other side. He sighed deeply, closing his eyes in thought. Snow was starting to fall heavily, coating the ground in a light powder. Richard watched it fall avidly as he took a good, long sip of his tea. He closed his eyes as the hot liquid burned his insides warm. He tried to think about the next part of his work of fiction, but he was interrupted by a rough-looking figure.  
"Got a fag, mate?" he said hoarsely to Richard.  
"Piss off!" he replied harshly.  
"Or else what? You're gonna get your posh friends to come-"  
"Don't you fucking dare!"  
Richard was shaking all over, the adrenaline coursing through his wavering arm. He hated the posh; they were his worst enemy. Accusing him of snobbery was not a smart move. He gritted his teeth, raring to fight.  
"Oi, ladies! Take your fight outside!" the bartender called from a safe distance.  
Richard strode past, keeping his eyes locked on the tramp. As a thought came to his head, he stopped. Taking aim, he spat at him, catching him on the cheek.  
"Still a brown-nose am I? Filthy tramp." he turned on his heel and strode out into the snow, fully aware that a couple were staring, eyes agog, at him as he left.  
He threw them a very rude hand gesture, which only seemed to widen their eyes even more. Surprisingly, Richard found he wasn't hacked off. Instead, he felt alive. Power was throbbing at his fingertips; he felt energised, ready to defend himself.

As he trudged through the thickening snow, his shoes made a satisfying crunch. To his amazement, he had managed to find a pair of wellingtons stuffed down the back of his cupboard. The toes rubbed a bit, but he was too cold to notice. The end of his nose slowly turned red. The chilly wind bit into his face and scratched through his legs, freezing them uncomfortably. Richard's teeth chattered as he wrapped his scarf tightly around the bottom of his face. Carefully, he took the piece of paper out of his pocket, to remind himself who his next victim was.  
Richard leant against the side of the dumpster, desperate for any kind of shelter. His gloves were letting in the cold, and his jumper and jacket weren't doing much better.  
"I can't do my job in this bloody weather." he muttered, emitting condensation as he did, "Jack Frost will run off with my dick!"  
He had just decided on his alternate method when his date for the night arrived. She was much better than last night; nice looking, she seemed promising.  
"Well aren't you a gorgeous one?" Richard exclaimed.  
"You don't look too bad yourself." the girl replied, looking him up and down.  
"Come." he held his arm out to her, which she held tightly.  
They strolled together, holding each other tightly for fear of slipping. Richard felt spirited by his guest. He enjoyed the company of a fine lady, especially in beautiful snowy weather. 'It's such a shame I have to kill her.' he thought as he fingered the rim of the small bottle in his pocket.

As they approached Tommy's Alley, Richard tensed, ready to make his move. His girl seemed happy enough, lulled into a false sense of security.  
"C'mon, baby. Down here." he said softly, his lips tickling her frozen ear.  
Gently he led her, his hand unscrewing the top of the bottle. He turned to face her, and grabbed her by the neck. She screamed, but it was quickly stifled as Richard emptied the contents into her mouth. She struggled as best she could, but one fatal slip proved to be her mistake. He sat quite forcefully on her hips, holding her mouth shut as she drummed her feet on the floor, splattering snow all over his back. He didn't relinquish his grip, not until the pulse in her neck ran dry. He placed two of his gloved fingers against the inflamed skin on her neck, and felt nothing. Smiling wickedly, he leaned forward and kissed her lips.  
"Goodnight, my sweetheart."  
As he stood up, his jeans pocket vibrated.  
"Gin." he said bluntly.  
"We've got a problem." Gin muttered quickly.  
"Shit. What is it?" he asked.  
"You're not in Jimmy's Alley, are you?"  
"No. I had to move to Tommy's Alley."  
"I can't meet you. The rozzers are watching."  
"Oh fuck! What do we do?"  
"Mic's comin' for you. He's got the Skoda."  
"Alright. You stay there. I'll get the rozzers off your back."  
"Cheers. Don't be too long.  
"I won't. See ya."

Richard ended the call. For a few moments, he had forgotten about the corpse lying at his feet. He knew he didn't have long. Gin was waiting for him, and he had a daring rescue plan in mind. Hauling the body to its feet, he manhandled it into a fireman's lift. Skidding slightly, he dodged the dumpster, grazing his jacket sleeve on the damp wall of the alley. He watched the snowflakes dancing about in the gaze of the nearby street light, waiting for the rumble of an engine. Cars were so sparse, it didn't take long for his compatriot to arrive.  
"Why couldn't you just stay where you were? You trying to rat us out?" Mic ranted as soon as he got out.  
"Don't fucking start. She's dead, nobody knows I did it. End of story." he dropped her abruptly, Mic catching her head before it crashed into the snow.  
He whipped around, and raced down the street, ignoring Mic's yell. His heart fluttered, pumping to the rhythm of adrenaline. The rozzers were going to get a piece of his mind. His face and ears flushed as the wind snapped at them. Minutes later, he managed to stop, the sign digging into his fingers as the snow mounted his wellies. Richard leaned around the corner, and he spotted the filth, sat in their undercover car on the opposite side of the street. Nearest to him was Gin in his lightly snow-sprinkled sedan. He could just about see the weathered face, staring apprehensively over at the lime green car. It filled his stomach with fire, watching his friend sit nervously waiting for him. Richard eyed the brick sitting on the corner. His eyes glinted wickedly as he bent to pick it up.

"Thank God you- what the hell are you doing with that?" Gin asked Richard the moment he pulled the door open.  
"Giving it to the filth. Think they might appreciate it." he was still smiling wickedly, holding the small snowball in his one hand. "Keep the door open. And get ready to drive."  
He made the short walk to the cop car, keeping his head low to avoid the thickening snow. He tapped the window with his free hand. Slowly, the window wound down.  
"Can we help you, Sir?" the man asked.  
"I believe you can, Sir. You can let my friend go home now. He was only waiting for me."  
"What were you doing out at this time of night?"  
"Scouting for ladies, probably." the other cop chipped in, not looking up from the paper spread on his lap.  
"That's no business of yours, officer. Can I go home now?" Richard asked in his most polite voice.  
"Yes. We're watching you, lad. We know what you're doing."  
"I'll bear that in mind." he smiled sweetly, and turned to walk away.  
As he reached the middle of the road, he heard the cops sniggering. Gritting his teeth, he whipped back to face them, releasing the snowball as he did.

It hit its target; it ripped through the glass, battering both cops as it tore past their faces. The glass splintered spectacularly, but Richard wasn't hanging around for the show.  
"GO!" he bellowed, launching himself into the car.  
The wheels screeched, thankfully not catching in the snow. They sped down the street, the cops at least a block away. Gin cornered frantically, miraculously controlling his skid. Richard lolloped all over the place, gripping the sides of his seat so tight it was starting to hurt.  
"Get your belt on!" Gin yelled.  
"This isn't the time for road safety!" Richard protested, but did as he said with great difficulty.  
"We could be encountering those cops another way!"  
Gin was right. They were starting to lose sight of them as they took corner after corner in an attempt to shake them off.  
"Where do we go now?" Gin panted with excitement and sheer fear.  
"Back to base. If we can, dump the car a couple of blocks away and run the rest!" Richard squeaked back.  
They slowed their pace slightly, but were still all eyes, looking for the menacing sheen of lime cop car. There wasn't far to go now. Only a few blocks stood between them and safety. What they didn't notice was the bonnet coming into view until it was too late to stop. A mixture of swear words filled the air. Gin threw himself back in the seat. Richard tensed.  
With a satisfying crunch, the cars connected. The small screech of metal on metal filled the air. The cars jolted their passengers violently as they wrestled each other, finally coming to rest. For a moment, Richard and Gin let the dust settle around them. Richard was first to react.  
"Gin, c'mon, let's run!" he touched his companion's arm.  
He didn't notice he was holding his breath until Gin turned to look at him. His eyes portrayed exactly what he was thinking.  
"You can run, right?"  
"Y-yeah." he managed to say.  
Together, they got out and sprinted for their lives. Richard felt the crunch of the snow underfoot. He dared himself to peek back at the scene; nothing was moving. His neck snapped forwards as he took charge. Gin's panting breath was hot on his tail. Their chests ached painfully with the cold and shock; breathing began to hurt but neither of them stopped until they reached the door. Richard stabbed the code on the door, and patted Gin on the back. He was bent double, desperately gasping for breath.  
"Now, when he gives you a grilling, don't answer anything. I'll sort this tomorrow. You take care." he said to him as the door opened. Gin responded with a thumbs up.  
"Woah, what's happened here?" the crony asked.  
"Since when were you in charge? Leave him to Dex." Richard snapped angrily.  
He walked briskly through the snow, more alert than he usually was. He knew he was in deep trouble, but for now he was grateful to go home after a very difficult night.

January 13th

_Christ o' flippin mighty! What a day! What a bollocking too. I guess I deserved it. We almost ended up to our eyeballs in shit.  
I went to see Dex yesterday. Now, Dex may look like the type of guy who loses his temper at the click of his fingers, but he's actually quite tame. Well, until I walked in. Everything went quiet. I could feel their eyes staring into me. Some glares were piercing, others appreciated what I had done. I knew what Dex was going to do. He was going for the 'schoolmaster' approach. Ask questions in a soft voice, then turn into screaming ab-dabs as you go on. Weird as it may sound, I wanted to laugh, snigger like the innocent, playful schoolboy inside me. He blabbered on about secrecy and ratting out. It's gone straight over my head. I was too busy staring Frank down. He thinks he's the man, but he's an arse-licking swine in my opinion. I practised my evil stare on him. That seemed to shut him up. Apparently, I'm now on my 'last warning' and if I don't buck my ideas up soon I'll be 'punished'. Which is the lady-man's way of saying stop having fun or we'll castrate you and run up the street swinging your knob about in a big circle.  
Anyway, after my schoolboy lecture, I went and hunted down Gin to see if he was alright. Thank God he's right as rain. He was sat there in the pub with his pint, talking to Billy. Not a scratch in sight. Bless the codger. Why on earth he puts up with me and the others, I don't know. Especially after my rescue mission went as smoothly as catching a greased bouncy ball. What a buzz, though. I'm not an adrenaline junkie, but that was an amazing high. I'm certain that not even Joe's whizz (one puff is enuff, he says) could match up to that.  
Luckily, I was granted the night off to 'recover' (yeah right) so I took a random walk. There's no way I can stay in that flat. It's so boring; I don't have anything to do except wait for Channel 4 to get good or eat. I've gotta make my food last, and my former option isn't available until 11, so I hit the streets. It's amazing how different they feel. I can smell the stench of the riff-raff, feel the cold harshness of the small web of streets. I don't own these streets, but I feel powerful. I can walk over anyone I meet. They do as I say, or I smack 'em.  
Something interesting happened, mind. Actually, two. Firstly, I spotted a gang of my lot hanging about on my work patch, pointing and whispering amongst each other. They must have been lightweights; they scattered the minute I approached them. Quite suspicious of them, I am. Secondly, I saw a pretty fine lady yesterday. I've never seen her before. Why she's attracted to this dump of a town I don't know, but she brightened up my evening. I couldn't help looking, and she noticed. And she smiled. At me. Cor, I have to make sure she's local. If she is, I'm not letting her slip away. She could be just the kind of girl I'm after._

_Anyway, enough about yesterday. On to today! Which is exactly the same as any other day, to be honest. The snow's still fresh on the ground. It truly makes my heart ache watching it. I remember the days when children used to play about, leaving their tiny little wellie footprints in the snow. By the end of the day, the snow would have turned to a squelchy slush, and the snowman was a lot shorter than he was in the morning. You don't get that around here. Mostly, the snow stays untouched, only disturbed with a few travellers' footprints. I can imagine my little girls darting about, gathering tiny balls of snow with their delicate, mitten hands. Handing their little balls to Daddy as he slaps them on the ever growing mound of snow. I miss my little angels dearly, I truly do. As long as the ice holds my heart together, I can just about live without them. They've probably forgotten me, learned to live without their Dad. Maybe there's a new Daddy, and he's ten times better than me.  
Being in the spotlight was hectic at the best of times, but I always had time for Mindy and the kids. On my days off, we went for insanely long walks, hauling every single dog out with us. We would leave mid-morning, enjoy a family picnic and not return until early evening. Izzy and Willow would chase each other, burning off their ham sandwiches as Mindy and I snuggled up on the picnic blanket, whispering sweet nothings. Those were the days.  
Enough reminiscing. Time for a little creative writing._

_**Snow Angel**_

"_I'm sorry it's come to this." I say.  
I know the look she's giving me. She's disappointed in me, and I understand completely why.  
"You don't have to go. We can work it out." she whispers, her eyes glazing over.  
"No. I'm not hurting anybody in the household anymore."  
She cringes when I say 'the household'. I don't belong now. The snowfall has already touched my suitcase.  
"What about the girls?"  
"They think I'm a beast. And they're right. I'm a washed up drunk. Throwing my toys out of the pram because I'm not what I was. You don't need that." my voice cracks as I wrench the tears away from my eyes.  
"Well, if you really have to go..."  
Suddenly, she's in my arms, sobbing hysterically. We're wrapped so tightly, I can't remember where I end and she begins. She's my darling, my love, my best friend. I have to leave her behind.  
"Goodbye, my angel." I whisper, and pull myself away.  
My eyes turn back as I walk away. My brain etches the features of her beautiful face into its memory. I will never forget our time together. I bow my head against the snow. My hands find the metal shape of Oliver. My new love. My case thumps into the back, my heavy heart lands with a crash in the front.  
All of me is screaming to turn back and hold my baby, telling her I'm so sorry over and over. Somehow, I manage to stay in the seat, accelerating away from the broken people living in the desolate house. I don't know where I'm going; all I know is that I need to change._

_**End**_

_Ah, that day. 5 years later, and I suppose I'm not a washed up drunk anymore. Instead, I'm a murdering tart. I really wish I could get back in touch with them now. I'm probably years too late, but I can always wish, eh?  
I rather fancy sticking my wellies in that snow. I need to think. Ciao!_

Later

Richard's wellington boots slapped down amongst the leftover slush covering the pavement. His coat whipped out behind him, the belt tie clanging against lampposts as he hurriedly passed them. His cheeks flushed bright red as he panted. He could barely focus on the face of his watch, but he knew he was running late.  
"Shit shit shit." he muttered between pants.  
As he looked up, his shoulder banged into a fellow pedestrian, knocking them on their back. Richard didn't look back.  
"OI! Dickhead!" the man cried at his retreating back.  
"Fuck off!" Richard shouted back, speeding across a road without looking.  
His heart leapt into his mouth. He saw the lights, heard the honk of the horn. He screwed up his eyes against his impending demise. However, it did not come. The bumper of the car stopped inches short of his bent knees. Momentarily grateful, he carried on his way, his heart racing excitedly. Throwing himself around the corner, he collided with a bin, creating an awful din which ripped through the unusual peace of the night. Richard's temper snapped. His foot connected with the dull side, toppling it over and spreading its revolting mix across the street. He leapt over it, and continued to the alley.

"There you are, Richard!" Gin exclaimed as he watched Richard bend double, gasping for cold breath to cool his boiling face.  
"Sorry-I'm...late!" he said in spurts.  
"Don't worry mate. I'm glad you're here. You'll never guess what."  
"What?" Richard stood up straight, intrigued.  
"I've got this guy I'm supposed to go and do in, but... I thought you should have him instead." Gin's eyes glinted with the same cheeky fire Richard had displayed the previous night.  
"I've already got someone..."  
"It's okay. We can swap. Here," Gin handed him a neatly folded scrap of paper, "you'll handle it better than me."  
Richard passed Gin his identical slip of paper, and fingered his new job with interest.  
"You better get going. You're already running late."  
"Cheers, Gin. See ya."  
Richard raised his fingers behind him in a feeble goodbye. As he stepped into the glare of the street light, he unfolded the piece of paper. What was written on it stopped him in his tracks. His mouth fell open. He read the four words over and over. His brain refused to register what he was reading. He knew the information off by heart.  
"This isn't happening." he whispered to the derelict street.  
Once again, he broke into a run, his eyes filling with tears of fear and happiness. His chest ached with longing, an immense hope for what was going to happen next. His erratic footsteps echoed noisily in his mind, carrying him in his preset route. He slowed as he reached the right street, wiping the tears forcefully from his eyes and rubbing his cold head. His stomach churned audibly, his legs shook. He wanted to go down the alley, he wanted to throw himself down there and at the feet of his company for the night. Something held him back. He assumed it was the nature of his job, but he was fed up of battling with himself.

Inwardly bracing himself, his first wet footstep crunched on a mound of glass. His second flattened an abandoned takeaway box. Richard was extremely nervous. He could see someone lurking in the shadow of the dumpster. As he neared, he recognised the silhouette. It sensed his appearance, and discarded the cigarette. Stepping out of the shadow came a face that Richard knew well. It was protected by a long, girly mop which was greying. He knew the stare of the pale blue eyes; they were drawing in huge amounts of information. They too seemed unable to comprehend what they were looking at.

"Richard? Is that you?" the figure asked in their low, rumbling voice.  
Richard's spirits soared. He hadn't heard that voice in three long years. It was the most soothing sound, better than any lady of the night. His voice replied in an elated tone.  
"Oh, James..."  
"It is you!" James exclaimed, his face a picture of happiness. "What are you doing here?"  
"That doesn't matter now. I want to know how you've been James. I have so many questions."  
"Like what?"  
"How are you? Where's Jeremy? What's he been up to? Have you seen-"  
"Woah, woah Richard. Calm down, mate." James raised his hands defensively. "One thing at a time. All I want to know is how did you get here?"  
"Simple. I came here about five years ago, I happened to run into this job, and everything's worked out since."  
"Why didn't you keep in touch? Mindy's been worried sick."  
"Wha-" Richard stopped mid-sentence, mouth agape.  
"Yeah, she's really missed you. She's convinced herself you're dead. She'd be so pleased to know you haven't changed one bit."  
"You have no idea." Richard's hands trembled as he clasped James'. "I have changed. For the worse."  
"What do you mean?" he looked confused.  
"The nature of my job...it's a world apart from Top Gear." the words stung in Richard's throat. "What did they tell you to get you here?"  
"That there was someone I needed to see."

Richard's stomach fluttered. By now, any ordinary person would be on the floor at his feet. This was no ordinary person. He turned from James, feeling the panic and sheer confusion rising inside him. His eyes widened as he raked his head, trying to scratch out the pre-programmed sense; to kill.  
"James, my life's a mess. Please, give me a contact number and run for your life."  
"Richard, I can help-"  
"James, you can't help me. I can't escape. Just give me a number and go."  
"Here." James hastily scribbled a number and gave it to Richard, who he was eyeing with uncertainty. "Can't you just tell me what's going on?"  
"Well, I...I'm supposed to kill you."  
The silence felt like ice. Nobody wanted to crack it. James' expression was frozen. Richard could see amazement and disappointment in his eyes, but also a great sadness.  
"James, you're the first and only person who's walking away. I-I" unable to finish, he threw himself at James, wrapping his arms around his shoulders. James held his arms away, not knowing what to say. Richard was determined not to cry as he snuffled into James' leather jacket.  
"Richard, I'm going for now, but I will be back, I promise. You're going to get out of here." James gently pushed him to arms length, and Richard caught sight of his watch.  
The slender, gold hand hovered over the 11 mark.  
"Shit."  
He heard the familiar rumble of the sedan, and knew his time was up. Snatching James' arm, he tugged him in the opposite direction. Wordlessly, he placed a pale finger to his equally pale lips. They jogged up the street, Richard leading.  
"I'll get you to the main road, and then you can't come back!" he squealed.  
"No." James halted. "We're friends. I'm not leaving you here."  
"James, if you stay then we both die. Save yourself. Don't worry about me." Richard blurted.  
"Richard, make your mind up now. Either you come with me or I stay with you."  
"This is not the time for arguing!" he cried. "Go! It's safer that way."  
"GET THEM!" a voice bellowed nearby.

"Fuck! Come on!" Richard pelted down the deserted street, half dragging James behind him.  
Somehow, they had escaped impending danger. Richard was hurtling for his flat, the only safe place he could think of.  
"Can we...slow down. Please?" James gasped, puffing his cheeks out.  
"Okay. Quick, in here!" Richard darted into a dead end alley.  
James stared at his friend, mouth agape. His face was bright red, his eyes watering. Richard breathed heavily, facing away from James.  
"Who were those people?"  
"I can't tell you." Richard mumbled.  
"Richard..."  
"Okay okay. You're not supposed to know what I do. Those people...are my colleagues."  
"They seem like a friendly bunch." James raised an eyebrow.  
"No, listen. You're supposed to be dead. The person you meet up with is your victim. I'm...a prostitute." he gulped.  
James averted his eyes, biting his lip. "Jeremy always joked about you being a media whore..."  
"James, please. I know you're ashamed. I had no choice. I became a drunken bastard, lounging at home. I wasn't being a proper dad. I left five years ago, took a car-"  
"Which car?" James' voice cracked.  
"Oliver." Richard's voice strained, remembering his faithful pal. "I wish I'd never let him go-"  
"What?"  
"I was desperate, James. I drove for days. I was low on funds, and I ran into these assholes I call colleagues. They offered me a job, but I had to surrender all I owned. Including..."  
"I understand." James went to pat Richard's back, but he flinched.  
"You don't! I hate my life. I DETEST it! I miss everything I ran away from. When I'm shagging some dumb blonde who pissed Dex off, all I can think of is Mindy. I want her back so badly. I know she'd never have me now."  
"I've heard enough. You're not staying here any longer. You're coming with me."  
"I beg to differ." the silhouette interrupted smoothly.

The character stepped out of the shadows, suddenly accompanied by a storm of others. They formed a tight ring, all staring Richard and James down. Richard moved forward protectively.  
"Are you losing your touch, Richard?" the ringleader spoke in a lethally soft tone. "Have you forgotten how to maim? How to kill?"  
"No. I have morals. You don't kill friends."  
"Friends?" his eyes stared back blankly. "In this business, there are associates and informants. And our associates have informed us that you are incapable of doing your duty. Let us finish the job." the male moved forward, but stopped at Richard's threatening glare.  
"You dare..."  
"Yes? What are you gonna do?"  
"You'll be the dead one."  
All of the men tensed, ready for battle.  
"Wait!" somebody cried.  
Richard saw his chance. He careered past all of the cronies, barging through with James on his heels. The drumming sound of tens of footfalls gaining upon them struck fear into James' frantic heart. Richard was racing across roads, shoving people aside as their eyes followed the unusual spectacle winding its way around town. The gap between the two groups was shortening considerably.  
"RICHARD!" James bellowed uncontrollably as they narrowly missed collision with a car.  
The attackers slipped and skidded to a halt, bumping into the car blocking their way.  
"Fuck! The shit's getting away!"  
"Oi, get back here!"  
"Oh, fuck!"

"Almost there!" Richard hastily procured a lone key from his pocket, ramming it into the lock on his faded wooden door. He ushered James inside and slammed the door shut. James surveyed the poky living quarters, glad for an excuse to stand still. He could hear Richard's shallow panting behind him.  
"So this is your place, huh?" he stood with his hands buried in his jeans pockets.  
"Yeah. It's cosy."  
Feeling a bit awkward, James shuffled across to the window. The sorry sight outside matched the interior of the living quarters. He was joined by Richard, kneeling on the threadbare sofa.  
"You did all this, just to get off the drink?"  
"Suppose so. It's worked, hasn't it? Yeah, I might have the odd tipple now and again, but it makes me puke something rotten if I have too much."  
"That must be hard for you to get used to. I remember one time-"  
James made a peculiar, throaty noise, cutting off his sentence.  
"Ja-"

Richard was thrown backwards, banging his head against the armrest. He gritted his teeth, the pain already starting to throb. The hand wound itself around his neck again, pinning him in place, spread-eagled on the sofa. Desperately he strained his eyes backwards. He could just about see James' mop of hair. He too was anchored heavily by another nameless figure. Richard swivelled his eyes forward, and was met with the smirk of his supposed close colleague.  
"You." he muttered.  
"Shut it." Gin muttered back, and tightened his grip, resting one foot on the sofa cushion.  
"Now now, Gin." the unmistakable voice of Richard's master scolded.  
Richard strained his sight over the top of the armrest. He could easily see Dex's portly figure, blocking James from view. His massive, dome-shaped stomach faced away from him, as he addressed James first.  
"Finally, I come face to face with you. May, your name is, isn't it?"  
"Don't tell him anything!" Richard interrupted.  
Gin slapped him mildly, reddening his right cheek. Richard bared his teeth, ready to attack the second time.  
"I will ask again. Your name is May, no?"  
"Yes." James said quietly, staring at the tip of his brown leather shoes.  
"Of course. Finally, I've got my hands on your puny little neck. However, I thought I would give your best friend the pleasure of ending your life. He failed, miserably. Gin," he snapped his fingers.  
With surprising power and agility, Gin yanked Richard down to the floor, contorting his arm and twisting it up his back. He yelped, bowing his head until his fringe touched the grubby surface of the rug underneath the very old and battered coffee table. His free hand pushed firmly into the floor, barely stabilising him.  
"Stop!" Dex waved his chubby fingers in Gin's direction.

He released Richard, pushing him further into the floor. James' mouth had fallen open, his baby blue eyes just as wide. Frozen to the spot, he could only watch as Dex cupped Richard's chin, pulling his face up until it met his bulbous nose.  
"I gave you one last chance. You still decided to screw around. Now you will feel my wrath."  
The tobacco stung Richard's nostrils. His mind was blank. This was the end. The bloodshed he had written about for so long was finally going to be spilled.  
"Don't you lay a finger on him, you fat, pompous arse." James growled with a hint of menace unfamiliar to his friend.  
Dex turned slowly on the spot, his face reddening.

Suddenly, the room filled to the edges with chaos. Richard lunged towards Dex, only to land in the reedy arms of Gin. He kicked, bit and scratched furiously, struggling to reach James. Snatching hold of a mass of hair, Dex tugged James. Thrusting him forwards, his knee smacked into Richard's forehead. They both toppled backwards.  
"AUGH!" Richard curled into a ball, holding his crotch.  
Relentlessly, Dex snatched at any part of James he could reach, half pushing, half dragging him towards the window. He too inadvertently landed on a very sensitive Richard. Like a spring, his legs thrashed out, forcing Dex backwards. Wriggling onto his knees, he turned on Gin next, battering him with a surprising venom. Punch after punch. Blow after blow. Gin was defenceless, holding his shaking hands up feebly, trying to catch Richard's hammering blows.  
"RICHARD! Hel-"  
He spun on the spot. The sight that met his eyes allowed Gin to viciously restrain him. With one hand, Dex was pushing James' chest into the sill. The other hand trained his eyes on the slush covered ground below.  
"One wrong move, and your mop-haired mate here gets it!" Dex spat, smiling wickedly at a hopeless Richard.  
His eyes travelled from an immobile James to the unblinking eyes of his captor.  
"Let him go."  
"He's on the list. You know the rules."  
"Can't we make an exception?" Richard looked pleadingly.  
"No. He's seen us. He could blab, Sir."  
"Valid point, Gin."  
"No, please. Leave him. Take me, instead."  
Richard saw the flash in Dex's eye. He knew he had shown weakness, but he had no other options.

His stomach churned as two wordless men grabbed a shoulder each, lifting Richard up off the floor. His shoes scraped along the floor. They manoeuvred him like a puppet, until his head and body lay next to James'. Their hands lay on top of each other; James' was bathed in a film of clammy sweat.  
"Wait, you said-"  
A hand appeared on Richard's head, forcing him to stare out the hard concrete below.  
"What I say and do, Richard Hammond, are two entirely different things."  
The fingers digging sharply into his scalp moved to the base of his neck. A hard, metal object took their place, pushing uncomfortably against Richard's head. Adrenaline surged down his spine, as he realised what was coming next.  
"Take aim." Dex said with an authoritative tone.  
Richard shoved himself backwards, as if a twitch had acted in his spine. The baffled henchman fell backwards, narrowly missing the blunt, deadly surface of the worn coffee table.  
"JAMES, RUN!" he cried, pulling him by the arm away from the window. James swung right into the path of the unguarded door. He hesitated for a moment.  
"GO!" Richard bellowed.  
James obeyed. His last fleeting glance at the room depicted Richard struggling with the four cronies. He was sorry to report his brave, courageous friend was losing.

"I KNEW it." Dex growled maliciously in Richard's ear.  
He was shaking with rage, wrenching Richard's head backwards. His face was even redder than before, his teeth gritted together. Richard panted painfully; Dex's enforcing hand was rubbing against the angry lump forming on his head.  
"I KNEW there was something about you. I knew this day would come. You are SPINELESS! Cowardice is not rewarded in this job. Neither is betrayal. You're gonna pay a high price for both."

Outside, James was running faster than he could manage. The tightness in his chest released squeaky breaths as his eyes scanned the surroundings as they came into view. Every new lamppost, every discarded dustbin that emerged from the murky depths of darkness could be potential help. He knew time was running out, but he daren't deviate from the direction he was running in otherwise he would get lost. Finally coming to a stop, James rested his hands on his knees, gulping lungful after lungful of achingly cold air into his system. His eyes darted from door to door of each bleak house, wondering if he trusted the inhabitants, if there were any.

Richard lay on the floor. He didn't have the energy to get up again. His hand wouldn't lie flat on the floor because it shook so hard. He knew they were watching him, admiring the black eye they had painted on his face, the tiny stream of blood outlining his top lip. He pushed himself into a sitting position, using the snapped table as balance.  
"Do you hurt now?" Gin's once kind face filled the vision of his good eye.  
"I thought you were decent." Richard held his sore chest. "Why did you do this?"  
Gin smiled cruelly, a smile that made Richard's stomach turn.  
"Loyalty. I stand up for my kind. Unlike you. Traitor."  
He spat into his crossed legs.  
"Look at your maker."  
Richard's battered faced turned to Dex. He saw the barrel of the silver pistol glaring back at him. Inside, he was weeping. He wanted James, he wanted Mindy and the kids. Just to hold them all one last time. He was going to die alone, in a grubby flat surrounded by cruel men he did not know. As he closed his eyes, he saw the warped wooden door burst open, eschewing Dex clumsily to one side.  
"Richard!" James cried, his voice almost drowned out by the synchronised gunshot.  
The room filled with images of grimace; others displayed utter shock.

He lay on the floor, the bullet wound obvious in his chest. James' eyes filled with unexpected tears. The bewildered man he had dragged off the street for support stared in disbelief. All eyes rested on the latest victim of Elevenses.  
"Dex..." Gin whispered in amazement. "He's-"  
"Yeah, yeah we know. Dead. Don't try to be a fucking smart arse, or you're next!" Dex trained the gun on his own man.  
The stranger fled, barging past James hastily on his way out.  
James, sensing he was out of Dex's peripheral vision, leapt for the gun. His knuckles grazed the rough handle, knocking it to the floor.  
"You don't know when to-ARGH!"  
James, bemused at where his fiery actions were coming from, threw his shoulder into Dex as he bent for the gun. The gun skittered across the floor, reacting to a messy kick thrown at it during their scuffle. He overpowered Dex with the lightest touch, his bent legs straddling his massive figure. He held his chubby hands away, crossing them over. The other henchman in the room strode over, and together they dragged his fat mass across the floor, determined to avenge Richard's half a decade of anguish in seconds.  
"Wha-what are you doing? Get your hands off me! Whose side are you on?"  
"Yeah, let him go!" Gin cried half-heartedly. "After all, he only KILLED the best of us, right?"  
"Gin, give us a hand, eh? Old pal?" Mic beckoned to Gin, who obliged, smiling a yellow, toothy smile.  
They all turned to the last live figure left in the room. He had sat quietly, watching the events unfold in utter silence.  
"Fancy helpin' out?" Mic held a hand out, ignoring Dex's shouts and pleas.  
"It would be my absolute pleasure." Richard's bruised and blood-stained face creased into a smile as he slapped his dirty hand into Mic's.

Dex was finally airborne. His squat legs waggled helplessly behind him. His head hung thirty feet from the rock solid ground below. Richard winced as the bruise continued to spread. It was just him and Dex, for the last time. James cowered in the corner, as far away as possibly from the violent scene about to occur.  
"Thanks for employing me. If I'd have known we would end up here, I would have signed up a lot fucking faster!" Richard's good eye reflected the full glow of the moon.  
"Just you wait! Frank will make your life hell. You'll be next! When they hear about this, you'll be on top of the hate list-"  
"Ohoh! I beg to differ." Richard chuckled menacingly.  
"I wish you had split your head open and buried your puny brain into that fucking airfield!"  
The smile was torn from Richard's face. The hands sprawled across Dex's large back erupted into ferocious shakes. Viciously, he grappled with his gigantic figure, firmly pushing him out of the window. Dex seemed to fall in slow motion, his stumpy arms and legs flailing through the chilly night-time air. Richard watched him hurtle to the ground with a deep satisfaction. Finally, after what felt like an age, the sickening boom reverberated in his ears. He could just make out the round outline of his former boss lying on the pavement.

The window creaked shut. The remainder of Elevenses had bid him goodnight, taking their casualty with them. Richard was aware that James was stood behind him, watching him gaze casually out of the window.  
"Richard." James said in a voice barely more than a whisper.  
Slowly he turned, his eyes pretending to scour the floor.  
"I-I don't believe I've let you live like this for-for-" he broke down, landing heavily on the floorboards.  
Richard calmly came down to his level, and gently parted the hands covering his face.  
"This is not your fault. I didn't mean to drag you into this. I know it's gonna be hard, but you have to forget-"  
"Forget? My best friend took a severe beating and proceeded to kill his boss! Look at you, Richard!" James gestured to Richard's severely blackened eye, "I refuse to let you be a part of this anymore! As soon as I can, I'm pulling you out of here."  
"James, go home. Please. You've been through enough for one night. I'll call in the morning. I promise." Richard forced a smile, even though he was desperate to get to bed.  
Eventually, James left, even though he was on the verge of crying when Richard shut the door on him. Standing with his hands on his hips, he surveyed the remnants of his once relatively tidy flat. A small pool of blood lay stagnant on top of the floorboards, his beloved coffee table lay snapped in half, the contents scattered on and around it. His eyes drooped; his earlier pain crept back into his bones.  
Yawning widely, he made for the bedroom, still marvelling at how lucky he was to still be alive. Not bothering to change or turn the light on, he threw himself into bed, knocking a pile of magazines off the bedside table.  
"Bugger." he muttered softly, wriggling his head into the inviting pillow. The aches began to melt away as easily as they had began. Finally, at 1:18am, Richard Hammond was asleep.

January 14th

_Well, it's a whichever-day-it-is morning and the sun is shining weakly in the sky. That's how I feel. After yesterday, I've been knocked for six. First, James turns up after all this time, then I have to save his life, then he saves mine! I know there's no God up there in his armchair, but I bet it was an awesome show for all the dead donuts. Something to brighten up the afterlife a bit. I'm paying the price heavily, though. This bruise feels like it's eating my face, I can't bear touching my nose, and just thinking about last night sets my hands off in shakes. My thoughts will shake right the way off this page if I'm not careful._

_  
I suppose I should be shocked or upset, or maybe even happy now that Dex has gone. I'm not. I'm just empty. I could write 'DEX IS DEAD' on a piece of paper and stare at it all day, but I still couldn't acknowledge the principle. He was good to me, but he still deserved what he got. Especially after his last words. They've brought everything back to the forefront of my mind. Apart from clothes, when I left my family I brought a few sentimental possessions with me. One of them is a floppy, blue ring binder. Inside are all the snippets and newspaper clippings relating to my accident. I was half surprised when Mindy presented it to me; it was the sort of thing I expected. I've only ever looked in it once, but this morning I got it out again and flicked through it. It brought back all the terrible memories, the fear, the confusion, the tears. That bastard knew it would wind me up, and I'm letting him win by thinking about it.  
As if that wasn't bad enough, for once I'm seriously doubting returning to work. I know I've always moaned and complained about it, but I've always obeyed and sometimes even enjoyed working for Elevenses. Now, I'm not too sure. For one thing, I know with absolute certainty that Frank is now in charge. And he is going to have it in for me. He's going to get me back for everything I ever said to him. Not that I care. I'll just see how far I can push him before he tries to seriously mess with me. I just cannot tolerate him. He thinks he's royalty, living right on the edge between scum and snot. He swaggers down here, smug look etched into his face, and it makes me want to hit him. I know what I'm about to say will make me look like a right twat, but I love the intimidation. It gets all my blood moving, makes me twitchy and ready to lay into him the minute he loses his cool. I don't have to hold back; every sorrow I've ever felt, all the pent up anger inside me just gets released onto him in a torrent of verbal abuse. And it feels bloody brilliant!_

_I'm supposed to ring James. I don't know if I can. He should hate me for what I put him through. He's too much of a blithering idiot to just let this lie, though. He's not made of smooth peanut butter and gritty sand, like me. He's probably made of beer-flavoured jelly, and what he witnessed last night will stick with him for a long time. I need Jeremy here; he would know exactly what to say. It's all well and good promising a trillion times that you're gonna rescue someone, but he has no idea how difficult it's gonna be. _

_Truthfully, deep down I'm scared. I honestly thought I would be arriving in Hell in time for breakfast, but even though I didn't I'm still left in this state. It's the price I've paid for disloyalty, and I don't want to pay it again. It hurts too much. When they told me they would spill blood, they were right. The other thing now is the knowing. Me and Gin can't ever be the same as we were. I can't trust him; he happily laid into me and was all set to stay alive when death was sneering out of a gun barrel at me. He may have changed his mind in the end, but that once kind, wrinkled mask is now a hard, cunning face.  
I suppose now, all that I can do is heal. Stick this experience in the dumpster 'Things I Must Forget'. My beautiful coffee table is barricading Mr Next Door in (the number of times him and his girl have kept me awake, it's payback time) and the small pool of blood has been wiped away, but I can still picture them there. The telly works (thank Devil) and Dex mysteriously 'disappeared' from the street in the night. All is well for now._

_Thanks for listening Tom, even if my words do fall on deaf ears. I'm going to see if I can find anything suitable as an ice pack. My face is really starting to hurt. My left eye is almost closed, and pretty much one side of my face looks like a paint by numbers in varying shades of purple, blue and black. Catch up with you soonest._

Later

_Once again, I've been blessed with the wonderful gift of a night off. I like to wander, but my feet can only traverse around Stonewell. My mind can roam right across the world. Africa, where the most exotic species of animals and plants nestle together under the baking Sun, and snooze under the beautiful red moon at night. Resolute, a hostile environment prowled by polar bears stalking through the snow and across the ice. The Channel, which is erm-wet._

_Ah, some continuous prose. Either that or watch 'The Joys of Sex' for the millionth time. I don't think so._

_**And I'm Riding Along...**_

_My bum is going numb. I've been travelling on for hours now. The sun is hiding behind my head, allowing itself to slide behind the shade of those hills in the distance. My past lies countless miles behind, my emotions woven deep into the tarmac Oliver is bounding along. The guilt won't settle though. It sits in my chest, tempting me to throw it up. Then it occupies my stomach, swelling until I explode in a shower of my own anger. I've rapped Oliver on his steering wheel a good few times now. _

_The tinted sheen of twilight is descending fast upon us. We are between towns, loosely winding our way along this boring ribbon. Each hedge is identical to its neighbour, the trees plain and painted white with the snow. The monotony adds to the invisible weights pressing down on my swollen eyelids. Even Oliver's protesting now.  
"Not far now, buddy. Next town." I pat his dashboard encouragingly, my voice emitting in a whisper because I've been quiet for so long.  
He whines again, choking and spluttering as we reach another roundabout. This time, it looks promising. The thickly coated shrubbery gradually transforms into decrepit concrete, row after row of houses, derelict in their appearance. It's now about mid-evening, yet there are barely any cars. Any people I see appear scruffy, with an air of menace about them._

_Rubbing my back into Oliver's worn leather, my head lolls backwards as my eyes roll shut against the backdrop of screeching and yells in the distance. Just as I manage to block them out, there's a tap-tap-tap on my window. He seems a nice fellow. Each line etched into his face holds a story, his blue, watery eyes surveying me with care and interest.  
"Are you lost, buddy?" his voice comes as a surprise, low and smooth.  
"Nah. I'm bedding down for the night."  
"Need a place to stay? Come on, come with me."  
His frail fingers wrap around Oliver's silver handle. He watches me expectantly as I exit the car.  
"What about my car?"  
"Don't worry about it. It's only a couple blocks away." he says with a smile.  
His arm reaches across my back. Reluctantly, my feet take me forwards, my eyes locked on my last vital possession._

I have a really bad feeling about this, but the wheels are set in motion.

_**End**_

_Good God! Is that the time? Whew, that took longer than I thought. Time to make tracks._

Once outside, Richard fumbled for his hood underneath his rather battered leather jacket. It shaded his mark perfectly; he didn't need stray drunkards haggling for a fight. He ambled down the street, slipping his hands into his jeans pockets. His fingers brushed the jagged edge of his key, and the smooth side of a scrap of paper. Confused, he pulled it out and studied it. It was the number James had written for him. Feeling slightly ashamed he had broken his promise, he plunged it back into his pocket and carried on. No sooner had he reached the end of the first street. his mind had begun to wander. The dark hollow of the gun, the stray gunshot mixed with Mindy's pristine beauty, the cheery faces of his children. He wondered if reuniting with James would bring him one step closer to meeting them again. His heart fluttered as if they were waiting around the corner for him, ready to spring out and grab hold of his knees.

His feet crunched into the gravel leading off from the main road. The last dim beams from the streetlight struggled to follow him past the rustling shade of leaves. He closed his eyes blissfully. The Banks were empty as usual, the gravel path untouched. Richard pressed his feet down hard with each step, grinning like a child. The sparse population of the area meant that The Banks were wildly overgrown, but not choked with litter. Richard loved this fact; just this one piece of nature was enough to satisfy his outdoorsy side. Shrugging his hood off, he lay flat on the edge of the hill, and tumbled down its side. He couldn't help the odd yelp of laughter as grass and dark sky whirled together. He landed with a soft thump on the thick grass, where he lay for a few moments, lost in thought again. A drop of dew lay dormant on his cheek, pleasantly cool on his flush face. He closed his eyes, waiting for the stirring in his stomach to stop.

His eyes snapped open. Richard was certain he had heard somebody nearby. Jumping to his feet, his eyes darted all around, looking for the shadow lurking above him. His fingers plunged into the squidgy mud, his jeans grazing the dirt as he yanked himself back up to the path. He scattered waves of gravel noisily down the other bank as he straightened up. Tentatively, he walked on, watching behind him as he went. A stone sailed through the air, cracking the already ruined bark of the tree to his left. He strained his ears; his head throbbed in rhythm with his heart, his breathing heavy and slightly erratic.  
"Somebody sounds excited."  
The low, sultry voice slinked over his shoulder. Richard whirled around on the spot, scattering yet more gravel. Her soft, jet black hair hung in loose curls that reached way past her shoulders. Her deep, brown eyes penetrated Richard's, her pert lips parted in a friendly smile. She sashayed up to him, never breaking eye contact.  
"Haven't I seen you before?" she asked innocently.  
"I've seen you before. A few days ago." he swallowed, trying to lubricate his dry throat.  
"Ah, yes. You were wearing this jacket, right? I love leather, it's somewhat...erotic." she fingered the sleeve, rubbing it with her neatly painted nails.  
Richard smiled as he raised his hand to her locks. "I love your curls. They're more natural than straight hair. Straight hair just reminds me of fake, page 3 girls."  
"Oh?" she seemed amused by his comment.  
"Just think; if you had one pinned down next to your fireplace, she would melt because she's that plastic."  
She released his hands, chuckling to herself. Richard liked how she showed her teeth when she laughed.  
"I love a man with a sense of humour." the woman sighed, resting her head on Richard's chest.  
He wrapped his arm around her. She could hear his excited heart thumping in his chest. They took a few wonky steps together. She placed her finger into the belt loop on Richard's jeans. This action caused a sharp intake of breath.  
"Problem?" she looked up to him devilishly.  
"N-no."  
He tried to calm himself. He knew she was deliberately winding him up, determined to tease him into a chase. He had only one thing on his mind, and she knew what it was. Taking him by surprise, he yelped as she pushed him roughly against a tree. She stared him out, still holding fistfuls of his jacket. Richard tensed, ready to fight her. He had let his guard down. If money was all she wanted, she certainly wasn't going to get it without a serious brawl.  
"Oh I love winding you up!" her face softened as she giggled again.  
Richard didn't realise his hood had fallen from his head.  
"You alley cat! Who did that to you?" she squinted at his discoloured cheek.  
"Some dickhead got in my way. He got what he deserved, don't you worry." he gabbled, worried that he had blown his chance.  
"Is it painful? It looks sore."  
"Yeah, it aches a bit."  
"So, does this hurt?"  
She pressed her lips against his firmly. He responded slowly, idly playing with her hair. He tilted his head, enjoying the feel of her lips on his. They stopped, momentarily gazing into each other's eyes. He went in again, kissing a lot harder this time despite the small pain on the left of his lip. Their bodies were pushed tightly together. Richard felt a leg wrap around his hip as his mouth touched her neck gently. It was cold on his face, but he continued, making her quiver with every kiss. Her hands roamed down his back, until they came to rest on his hips in place of her leg. They wandered a little lower. Richard smiled; he could feel himself stirring. He heard the clink of his belt, felt it whip past his hip bone and saw it land with a soft flump in the grass beside his foot. Their hands worked equally quickly; Richard ran his hands up and down her naked thighs, extremely excited and tense.

They thrust towards each other. Richard rubbed his head against the tree, letting out the greatest moan he had heard for a long time. It was the best feeling in the world. His brain was overwhelmed with the pleasure. He couldn't help himself. He was going at it like a wild animal, pushing harder and harder as he nuzzled into her blouse, gasping and moaning each time. The throbs became too much for him to bear. His legs shook so hard he thought he was going to faint. They slid to the floor, groaning and clasping at each other. Her nails reached down his shirt and scraped all the way up his back, making him shudder with delight. Her legs squeezed his torso, causing him to bite her shirt with utter pleasure.  
Not caring for anybody in the vicinity, Richard's moans became yells as he felt the wave coming. After what felt like years, it crashed, exploding his brain and releasing a torrent of screaming and cursing from his uncontrollable mouth. He hugged his playmate tightly, rocking back and forth as his orgasm came to an end. His swollen face was covered in sweat. Both of them were smeared with dirt. He was grinning, he was whimpering. He was satisfied.  
Helping his partner up off the floor, he whispered "I don't know your name, but you're fucking awesome!"  
"I don't know who that guy with the long hair is, but you're still an earth-mover yourself." she said audibly, "and my name's Jane."  
Richard looked over Jane's shoulder and immediately turned beetroot red.

James stared down at his feet, his own cheeks tinged with pink. Hurriedly Richard redressed himself, fiddling with his shirt and swooping his long, muddied jacket around him. Gently sweeping Jane's hair from her face, he kissed her quickly.  
"Thank you." he muttered.  
Replying with a small wave, she set off into the trees, leaving Richard and an uncomfortable James alone.  
"Evening James." Richard broke the silence.  
"Evening." James still couldn't meet Richard's eyes.  
"Listen, I-I'm sorry about..." Richard jerked a thumb behind him.  
"It's okay. You know things of that nature make me embarrassed." James looked down at his hands, fidgeting on the spot.  
Richard couldn't bear it any longer.  
"Look at me!" his voice rose, ringing in James' ears with an impatient edge.  
"You didn't call. You promised me you would call. Why?" he stared pleadingly at Richard.  
"I...guess I wanted to give you time to cool off."  
"Of course. If you were human, you wouldn't pass it off in your nonchalant manner."  
His words stung Richard.  
"James, I am human-"  
"No. You can't be human. Not if you can kill somebody else, after performing the most intimate act of love you can with someone. You've changed so much. You're not Richard Hammond. Not anymore." James trembled under the weight of his own words.  
"Please listen to me. I have feelings. I am guilty, guilty of so many crimes I can't even remember my death toll. I despise what I do, I hate myself for letting me get sucked into this way of life. You watch programmes on the telly about trafficking and drugs, and you always wonder how people could be so blind and stupid. Now I know, it's easier than you think. I want to escape, I really do. But I have no place else to go."  
"Why won't you come with me, Richard? If you want to leave so badly, why do you insist on refusing my help?" James puzzled. "Look at your face," he touched his smooth fingers to Richard's ugly blemish "look what they're capable of. You almost lost your life. Those bullets ended up in your colleague. Surely that's enough of a wake-up call, right? He won't be there next time."  
Richard gave James a wooden hug.  
"I know. Just...give me a little longer. I need to plan my escape so they can't tail me." he looked up to James' sparkling eyes, trying to find a grain of acknowledgement of his situation.  
"How much longer?"  
"I don't know. Not long. Please?"  
James sighed.  
"Alright. But I'm coming down to see you every day from now on."  
"But I'll be working-"  
"Not in the day you won't be." James smiled triumphantly.  
"Alright, you clever bastard. You win." Richard grinned back.

Together, they emerged from the sheer darkness of The Banks under the bright glare of the street light.  
"C'mon, you can camp at mine for the night." Richard led the way through the web of hostile streets.  
They were very dark now, the intimidating darkness broken only by the powerful beams of light from the street lights. James followed behind slowly, feeling quite dazed. He screwed his eyes up as they passed each tent of light. Richard would become a black blur stained with brown. James pictured him as a wild monster, snarling and rearing his head, striking forward with sinister claws at his puny, cowering prey. He physically shook the image from his head, his hair swishing back and forth.  
Richard had skipped well ahead, stroking the cold, metal curves of the cars he passed. His fingertips blackened with every fleeting touch. Briefly, he thought about his recent encounter, and decided that he had enjoyed it very much. The rosy picture of her in his mind was tainted black. It seeped into her tapestry, the ink of the guilt spreading through the fibres. He enjoyed her company, but was it true love or true lust? If James was providing his escape route, surely it would lead back to the reunion of the family he helped to create.  
The guys ' unified thoughts caused them to collide with each other on the corner of Hobson Road.  
"Bloody hell, James." Richard exclaimed bluntly.  
"You shouldn't stop then, should you?" he replied feebly.  
"Sorry. I was just...thinking."  
Richard was grateful for James' lack of interrogation. He knew that running away was now a cowardly and selfish act, and he had a lot of making up to do to Mindy and his children.  
"Richard, look!" James grasped Richard's shoulder and pointed ahead .  
"No...I'm seeing things. They said..."

Richard fell silent as his mouth dropped open. His blackened fingertips stroked the lime-yellow flanks of the car. Its shiny veneer had been besmirched with all manner of dirt, some more stubborn-looking than others. A hubcap was missing from one wheel, broken on another. A mixture of deep sadness and anger bubbled in his stomach as he wandered around the car, spotting dents and chips here and there. The once shiny, single wing mirror lay smashed and tarnished in the gutter, next to Oliver's worn front tyre.  
"What have they done to him?" James mused audibly.  
"I thought he was dead. They told me was crushed, sent to the scrap yard in the sky."  
"Obviously not. Looks like they sold him on."  
Richard's eyes darted from his beloved friend to the shoddy home they were stood outside of. He rapped his knuckles on the splintered wood three times.  
"They're probably asleep. They won't answer."  
"Trust me James. In a place like this, nearly everyone's nocturnal.  
They both waited expectantly for somebody to answer, but they didn't come. Richard banged more forcefully with his fist.  
"Leave it, Richard. Come back tomorrow.  
"No! I want Oliver back NOW! I don't care who this fucker is, he's getting off his obese ass and giving me the keys!"  
"Said who?"  
Richard spun on his knackered heels to face the stocky man filling the doorway. He seemed amicable, but Richard wasn't taking any chances.  
"What do you want? It's half eleven-"  
"Oliver. I want Oliver back."  
"Who?" the man stared at Richard, confused. He eyed his black eye with suspicion.  
"Give me your car."  
"Give? Do I look like Oxfam?"  
"Do I look like fucking Alan Sugar?" Richard spat impatiently.  
"I'm sorry, but unless you can pay, I'm not interested." he replied, slowly shutting the door on Richard's thunderstruck face.  
He exploded with furious rage, kicking and battering the door with all his might. His explicit cussing rend through the night. James cringed, biting his lip nervously. Richard assaulted the door for as long as he could, until he was too exhausted to lift a finger to the snapped timber.  
"I'm sorry, Richard. Please, just leave it till morning-"  
"I-am not leaving-without Oliver." he said menacingly through gritted teeth.  
He turned to face his olive-coloured companion. He thought back to his first night in the flat, remembered how torturous his dreams had been. The crunch of Oliver's metal still rang fresh in his mind, yet here he was. His body panels were smooth, the windscreen was still intact, spoiled only by the blob of fluorescent orange that represented the nearby light. Richard linked his sore fingers into Oliver's cold, soothing chrome handle.  
"You're still my boy. I'll get you back soon enough. You'll see." Richard rubbed his white roof affectionately.  
As he pulled away, his fingers caught on the handle. He pulled, and the door swung open to boast Oliver's plush leather blue seats. He looked at James, who recognised the cheeky glint in his eye and knew what was coming next.

"In all my time, Richard Hammond, you have never ceased to amaze me." James muttered, staring anxiously at the blank houses.  
"I never have, and I never will James." said Richard's feet.  
He cursed loudly as the blade bit into his hand once again, missing the snarl of wires once encased in the flimsy dashboard.  
"God's sake! How many more times, Hammond? I knew you and Oliver were close, but I didn't think THAT close." James joked.  
"Ha. Funny." Richard bit back with sarcasm.  
He stretched his legs, pulling his hip away from the large steering wheel jutting into his side. The dust caked into the foot well had transferred to his elbows as he squabbled with the complicated knot of wires, barely able to see with the light streaming from the lamppost nearby. Richard's triumphant cry was drowned out by Oliver's soft rumble as the engine squeaked noisily into life.  
"Oliver's back!" they cried in unison.  
Richard's smile instantly dropped into a frown as they set off. The car juddered and drove forward in spurts. He forced the gear lever forwards, but it was jammed in place.  
"He's crippled!" Richard was thrown forwards forcibly with another shudder.  
The jolts became progressively worse as soon as he attempted turning corners. The car could barely crawl forward, shuddering and jolting without warning. They both gasped as the curved headlamp missed a parked car by inches.  
"No, please!" Richard whined, desperation evident in his voice.  
"Maybe you should stop. You'll ruin the engine."  
"Please, Ollie! Just to the end of the street."  
Oliver retaliated with a sonorous boom, sputtering to a halt with a series of ear splitting squeaks and shrieks.  
"NO!" Richard squealed.  
Flinging the door open, he raced for the back, and heaved as hard as he could. His face quickly turned beetroot red with the effort, his eyes watering with a mixture of pain and frustration. James hopped out and watched Richard struggle for what felt like an eternity. Oliver rolled towards the gutter at an achingly slow rate, but Richard wouldn't stop. His hands slipped and slid on the boot. He felt like there were thousands of knives plunging into his back between his shoulder blades. Finally, Oliver was out of harm's way, coming to another noisy halt as a hubcap bore the force of his weight, scraping against the kerb.

James looked warily to Richard; he seemed on the verge of blubbing.  
"We can fix him. Look what happened out in Africa." James tried to console him.  
"It's not that. I'm tired. I'm tired of being this shady, seedy man. I don't want to be a slippery snake. I want to be the lion." Richard folded his arms and buried his head into them, weeping openly at last.  
"Um...well, you will. Very, uh, very soon." James patted Richard's shoulder, slightly frightened of the spectacle he was creating. "C'mon, let's get you inside."  
He peeled Richard from Oliver's body.  
"Thanks mate. For everything." Richard's voice trembled as he opened the door to their left.  
James caught sight of his prominent bruise. His stomach twinged with guilt as he thought of the words he still hadn't said.  
"Richard, I know now isn't a perfect time, but there's something you need to know." he pulled him to arms length.

January 15th

_Today's the day. As I write this, I am perched on the end of the bed, trying not to scribble too loudly else I'll wake James. I can just about see the outline of my Billingham camera bag from here. It's such a scruffy thing. I could probably make a pack of biscuits myself with the crumbs left in it, and it swallowed a pack of my fags which I can't reach unless I tear it to shreds. I've packed and re-packed twice, and it's really hit home how little I've got. My clothes and sentimental items barely fill half the bag.  
I wish James would wake up. When I can see the sofa from my bed, that's when I get up. It's going to be strangely relieving leaving this place. It's shit, but you get used to it. Now that I'm looking at it with cleansed eyes, I'm noticing all the little things I did before. The rug was beige, once. The cushy lining of the sofa is punctured with little rips and tears. There is no light shade, just a dusty bulb hanging from the ceiling. It's only inhabitant was a man who was led astray, a man who has managed to evade the law, but should be rotting away in prison. Maybe one day, it will all catch up with me and turn me into this gigantic killing monster, left bitter and twisted from past experience. Hopefully that won't happen.  
I hope James is sleeping peacefully, unaware that his wound up pal is pacing back and forth waiting to put the plan into action. I'm seriously considering tripping over my own bag to get him moving._

_It is now 8:00am. Finally, there are signs of life coming from my bed. Oo-er missus._

Lunch

_This is brilliant! I'm halfway back to being Richard 'Hamster' Hammond. Anything other than a prostitute. James and I are basking in the lukewarm rays of the watery sun, munching on cardboard sandwiches. I already feel a world away from Stonewell. While I was working under the cover of Oliver's bonnet this morning, I felt real hope. My stomach filled with that amazing feeling you get when the good old endorphins start pumping round your system. I pictured their faces; little Izzy looks so strange when you imagine her at the age of 11.  
Things went very smoothly this morning. James had to go back to base. He's still a telly presenter, but he's had to resort to being boring and road testing cars properly to stay famous. Him and Jeremy work together on this new telly show. That's the reason why James has been around here; he's been road testing for the new series. Anyway, while he did that I busied myself repairing poor Oliver and his busted engine. He's still very shaky at the moment, but when I get back home I'm going to fix him up good and proper. For now, I'm bedding down at James' while I get settled back in.  
It's weird being here. There's so much colour; luscious greens, warm yellows and reds and cooling blues. They're not brown and grey and murky. I don't have to check my back to see which nutter is behind me. I'm amazed at how I physically feel. It feels like I've been clenching my muscles, and now that they're relaxed, I feel relaxed too._

_James is coming back with my drink. Will keep you posted._

Later

Richard stood with his back to the wall. He held his quaking palms out in front of him, admiring them for a moment. He tried to take deep breaths, but they shallowed as another mix of nausea and excitement spilled into his stomach. He placed an ear to the slightly ajar door. He could hear James' low rumble and the annoying stutter of another man. He clapped his hands to his mouth to extinguish the audible gasp that came when he heard Jeremy's booming voice. The voices paused. Richard's heart thumped heavily as he waited for them to continue talking. He caught sight of himself in a large mirror hanging on the opposite wall. He removed his hands from his face as he stared into his own widened eyes. He comforted himself by trying silly poses, and discovered the amount of mud still caked into the back of his leather jacket. Desperately, he picked at it with his fingernails, but it had little effect.  
"Richard, are you, um..." James addressed Richard.  
"Oh, yeah I'm ready." he dropped his tails back into place, and walked into the room after James.

Richard kept his eyes trained on the polished wooden floor, overcome with fear and shyness. He ambled forwards until Jeremy's brown suede shoes came into his line of vision.  
"Is the floor more interesting than me, eh?" Jeremy barked.  
"It's lower to the ground than you." Richard craned his neck to admire his friend's face.  
Jeremy had hardly changed in all those years. His face carried maybe one or two wrinkles more, and his hair continued to recede into thin air. However, he was still commanding, rude and happy to impose his opinion on everything.  
"It's brilliant to see you again." Jeremy embraced Richard, his head tucking neatly into the crook of his arm.

For the first time in ages, Richard felt safe. He was back where he belonged, eager to get his life back to normal. He blinked away a few fallen tears under the protection of Jeremy's arm. He could also hear a few soft snuffles from Jeremy.  
"You look so old." Jeremy cupped Richard's face and strained it to look at him. "Must be your eccentric career choice."  
"I wondered why it didn't scare you. Sounds like your kinda thing." Richard grinned as Jeremy snorted with laughter.  
"This really isn't funny." James folded his arms and eyed the others sternly.  
"Oh come on James! We've got our Hamster back."  
"And what about the others? The people who can't have their mum or their sister back, because he killed them." James protested, gesturing at Richard.  
"I did what I had to do, OK? I had no choice."  
"You could always have said no. Like I said before, I don't know you, because you're not Richard Hammond anymore."  
James flounced out of the room to shocked silence.  
"Well, I'M glad to have you back, Richard. Even if James needs a little...persuasion." the last word carried Jeremy's sentiments.  
"Don't bother. He has his reasons."  
"So what's it like being a murderer?"  
"Bloody awful." Richard turned back to Jeremy. "You need something to be able to do it. Right when they look into your eyes, silently begging you to stop. You can't be human if you ignore it."  
"Maybe if you talk about it-"  
"I don't want to. I'm not proud of it. I want to start leaving it behind."

Richard exited the room. Once outside, he gulped audibly. He had to be a man. Complaining and moaning wasn't going to get him anywhere. He hoped and prayed that the past was condemned to stay there. He could see dark-clad goons popping up everywhere; crouching behind the several cabinets lining the hall, sliding down the banisters with guns cocked, ready to shoot. His disloyalty had already been punished once. He wondered how long it would be before he was punished a second time.

Jeremy patted his springy hair as he hogged the mirror Richard had used in the hallway. He cast a sidelong glance over at James, who was leaning against the wall staring at the extravagant light fixture.  
"James," he sighed deeply, "will you let it go?"  
"No, Jeremy." James rolled his eyes, "I don't see why I should."  
"Cut him some slack, He's been through a lot."  
"Which he brought on himself."  
The silence that followed was tinged with a chill from James' cold words. Jeremy shook his head in disgust, and walked away from James into the banquet hall.

Its walls were adorned with giant paintings of previous owners of the manor. Their intricate eyes were fixed on an elongated wooden table covered with a simple white tablecloth. It was laden with countless silver platters bearing delicious, enticing food. Fat, roast chickens excreted their mouth watering scents. Bright, fresh vegetables lined the length of the table, interspersed with tureens filled with steaming gravy.  
Sure enough, the room slowly filled with guests wearing all manner of elegant attire. Richard stood feeling awkward at the head of the table. He smiled politely at anyone who caught his eye. Inside, his mind was whirring. Do they know? Are they scared of me? What if they know Frank? he thought. He found James staring at him from the other side of the table. It was a look primed with disbelief, anger and sadness. Richard averted his eyes to the floor.  
"Excuse me! Could we all be seated please?" a man bellowed from Richard's side.  
A momentary hush fell over the room before everyone made their beeline for the table. Chairs squealed and screeched for a few minutes before the congregation fell silent again. They all watched the previous addressor as he rose from his chair at the head of the table. His magnificent moustache bristled as he spoke. "Before I begin, I have been asked to welcome an old friend back into our presence. Richard Hammond!"  
The banquet hall erupted with claps and cheers. His face burned bright red. As the table's attention came back to the front, he could still feel the odd eye tickling the back of his neck.  
Richard tried desperately to pay attention, but the monotonous drone still hummed in his ear. The paranoia was working its way back again. A woman opposite him a few seats down was still watching him closely. Her eerie, steely stare penetrated his mind. She's going to find out, Richard thought. I'm gonna be in the shit. She's a cop, she's going to get me.  
His thoughts were snapped back to attention as cutlery clinked all around him.

The constant roar of chatter echoed into the far corners of the room as the glasses of wine started to take effect. The older men laughed until their wrinkled faces turned as red as the wine they were drinking. Richard's hands fidgeted in his lap. For the umpteenth time he scanned the table. Jeremy was still deep in conversation a few seats away, and James was yet again draining his wine glass. The group sat next to him jostled him occasionally, but he didn't seem to notice.  
He couldn't escape the feeling that James was plotting against him. He could picture the cogs slowly clunking in his head, formulating a plan to land Richard in trouble. His stomach gurgled nervously; he hadn't touched a scrap of food. He was far too preoccupied with thinking about seeing Mindy and the girls and James and Jeremy amongst other things.  
The pat on his shoulder stirred him from his thoughts.  
"C'mon mate! Let's get to bed." Jeremy said rather too loudly in Richard's ear.  
Richard stood up quickly, grateful for an excuse to leave and have some time to think. Jeremy blundered about behind him, almost hurting himself on the gilt banister. He laughed uncontrollably. Richard looked down upon him, and rushed up the red carpet covering the stairs. His pace quickening, he found the room he had been allocated earlier and wrenched it open, slamming the door forcefully with both hands.

The dim flickers from the muted TV that illuminated the room were soothing to both his body and mind. Richard was sat on the edge of the bed, staring into space. He twiddled his thumbs and interlocked his fingers repeatedly as his mind chased itself round and round. Mindy would cross his mind, and his stomach would flutter. But a trilby hat would morph onto her head, and Frank's obscene face would smile down upon him, only for him to sprout James' greying locks and serious frown. He still carried a piece of gloom with him, even if he had left the place that had implanted this evil, murky seed.  
His suit became too stuffy for him. He flung the top half behind him and went over to the window. Parting the thick red curtains, he gazed outside, naked down to his torso. His hand curved over his shrunken stomach. He looked into his reflected eyes, the once vicious bruise camouflaging with the night. He couldn't sleep now, it was way too early for him_. I should be out now_, he thought to himself. _The rest of them are. Without me._  
Richard moved away from the window, sitting heavily down upon his discarded clothes.  
"Any second now." he whispered to the room.  
At that moment, his eyes were drawn to the silent picture still playing on the TV. A clearly insane man mimed cackling wildly, brandishing a gun which he fired with the air of a child messing about with a toy. Two other men in the room dodged the crazy gunfire comically, their arms and legs flailing and dancing about. Richard pressed the mute button on the remote.  
"DIE! YOU WILL DIE BECAUSE OF YOUR INSOLENCE! BECAUSE OF YOUR SHEER STUPIDITY!" screeched the TV.  
Richard slammed the power button, enclosing himself in darkness. The image was still burning bright in his eyes. Suddenly, he became aware of a film of sweat covering every inch of his skin. A faint panic rose from deep within his stomach. All he wanted to do was hide under the covers, with just his eyes peeking out. Which he did. His heart raced inside his chest. Every squeak, every creak, every foreign noise was a mobster coming to get him. Footsteps padded up the hallway.

**********

"Sir!" a youthful, stocky man burst into the almost empty room.  
Frank's huge girth swivelled in the chair to face his junior.  
"What is it?" he muttered.  
"We're missing a man!" he spluttered.  
Frank arose swiftly despite his bulk. His face remained unchanged.  
"Where's his patch?"  
"Between Jimmy and Tommy."  
Frank strode over to a sideboard near the front of the room. He flicked through a small green book sitting on the top. His finger rubbed over a square on the page.  
"That son of a bitch. Hammond!" he brought his fist down upon the sideboard. "He needs to be taught a lesson."  
"Um... isn't he the one who killed Dex?" the young man piped up.  
"He did what?" Frank said curtly.  
"He killed Dex. Gin told me."  
Livid was the closest anybody could get to describing Frank's facial expression.  
"I want that little pipsqueak back here as soon as possible! He will PAY!" Frank spat through his bristly moustache. "OUT!" he yelled at his apprentice, who scurried away back into the night.

*********

BANG! The sound of a door being kicked open, followed by another and another, each one steadily increasing in volume until the bangs pulsated in his head.  
"Richard! It's me! Let me in, I've been knocking for ages!" Jeremy called drunkenly from outside.  
Richard eyed the door with suspicion. Reluctantly, he slipped out from his hiding place, drawn towards the door by his own curiosity.  
Jeremy watched as the door opened slightly, and he was greeted by half of Richard's face.  
"There you are! I've been looking all over for you!"  
"I've been busy..."  
"I can guess with what." Jeremy raised an eyebrow as he surveyed Richard's damp face.  
"I'm just about to go to bed. What do you want?"  
"That's nice. I thought ooh, I'll come check up on my good old buddy Hammond, but no, this is the thn..." Jeremy's words slurred badly the more he spoke.  
Richard gently closed the door as Jeremy slid to the floor outside his room. He hopped back into bed, pulling the thick, warm covers right up over his head this time. He forced his eyes shut. _Let's be normal. This is the time when normal people go to sleep. _It deeply embarrassed him to think like this, but it did the job. His head sank further into the pillow as waves of sleep claimed his weakened shell.

He watched over Richard as he appeared to sleep peacefully. A smile played across his lips as a plan formulated in his mind.

The next few days passed without much drama or excitement. The production crew were still using the manor as base, sorting James' clips into a television segment. Jeremy had mostly tried to entertain Richard, who still appeared uncomfortable and edgy when left on his own or with someone he did not know. Once he had shown Richard the splendid garden, he had become besotted with it, spending nearly all of his time following the meandering paths under the weak January sun. James was still refusing to talk, dampening the otherwise happy atmosphere among the group. He watched Richard from the panoramic windows with a surly expression upon his face. He couldn't comprehend how Jeremy could still support Richard after everything he had done. It went against everything that James believed in and agreed with.

Nothing interesting happened until about three days after Richard's arrival. He was just starting to settle in. He felt much more like his old self, and was much more confident talking to the new production team about their work. They appreciated his enthusiasm, and in turn offered him a place in the next series, which he was delighted to receive. He had immediately hastened to tell Jeremy the good news, but James did not even seem interested. If anything, it ironed the frown creases into his face.

Richard shook his wet hair as he stepped out of the shower and wrapped himself in a plush, navy dressing gown he had found in the bottom of his wardrobe. His friends, both new and old were in the middle of a production meeting downstairs which he did not want to interrupt. He tiptoed about in his room, pulling on his brand new pyjamas and towel drying his now very long hair. The day after tomorrow, he was being reunited with his wife and children. He had felt no physical longing for them like he did now. He could almost smell Mindy's hair; he could almost feel Willow's tiny, pristine fingers in his palm. Even Izzy's infectious giggle rang in his ears. He couldn't wait to hear all about their adventures and experiences. _But what about mine? _A thought that suddenly struck him.

He was distracted from the answer to that question by a yellow sticky note which had materialised on the mirror. He frowned; it wasn't there this morning. Pulling it off, his stomach dropped as he read the words written in beautiful swoopy writing. _We are coming for you.  
_The hand holding the note trembled. He dropped the note; it fluttered to the floor. Richard raced to the window, pressing his nose hard against the glass. He scanned the dimly lit garden four, five, six times.

January 18th Evening

_They know. They're coming to get me. I am dead._

_They left me a note. Which means they're here already. But where?_

_Just checked and rechecked the bathroom. Nobody there. Wardrobe's open, they're obviously not in there._

Night

_I don't know how many times I've scoured my room now. I can't risk sleeping. They could cart me off in the middle of the night. Or even worse, I might not ever wake up. When James finds out I lied to him, the tiny crumb of friendship we may still have will be gone forever. What if they kidnap my friends? What if they kill somebody? Oh what to do, what to do..._

Richard awoke with a start after what had felt like ten minutes. He was perched on the edge of his bed, his one hand cradling his head. Heavy rain pattered constantly on the windows, and the sky contained a mass of dark grey clouds. Richard heard a crunch under his foot as he hurried to get dressed. The corner of the luminous note he had discarded yesterday jutted out from underneath his foot. He snatched it up, shoving it straight into his pocket as he caught sight of himself in the mirror. Richard was known for his sometimes bizarre hairstyles, but this was something else. Random strands tried to escape from his head, whereas others were plastered flat. He rubbed it quickly and left.  
Outside, he bumped into Jeremy who looked just as dishevelled as he did.  
"Jeremy, thank God I found you!" Richard exclaimed.  
"What is it, Richard?" Jeremy stretched his arms, "It's too early in the morning for a crisis."  
"Look at this." Richard proffered the crumpled yellow note.  
Jeremy read it momentarily, and then burst into weak laughter.  
"Jeremy, please." Richard said gravely.  
"I was wondering how long it would take you to find this." he spluttered between fits of his hyena laugh.  
Richard stared, dumfounded at Jeremy. Two words popped into his head to describe his best friend.  
"You... pillock." a grin spread over Richard's face. "I didn't bloody sleep 'cause of you!"  
"Oh, and I look like I've had my eight hours, do I?" Jeremy retorted.  
At that moment, both of their stomachs complained rather loudly. They looked at each other, and burst into companionable laughter once more.

Breakfast was a quieter affair than usual. Richard secretly smarted from the prank played on him, and James still frowned disapprovingly in his direction. Even a usually boisterous Jeremy held his tongue and ate in uncomfortable silence. James folded his arms, glaring angrily at Richard. Richard looked down into the pool of milk still left in his cereal bowl. He could feel his face reddening, his hand shaking so that the spoon clinked against the side of the bowl.  
"Hammond, you'll spill your milk if you carry on." Jeremy's voice croaked.  
"I'll spill it over his head if he carries on!" Richard raised his voice.  
James tossed his hair out of his face.  
"James, I know you're not talking to me, and I know you don't agree with what I've done. We get the point. Now stop acting like a child and get over it. It's really boring me now."  
"Is that what you say to the victimised families?"  
Richard shot up out of his seat, but Jeremy was even quicker.  
"Stop it! Both of you! This is our last day here, do you have to ruin it?" Jeremy hissed, holding both of them by the fronts of their shirts. "Mindy would be ashamed if she was here right now!"  
"She would be ashamed anyway." James muttered as he pushed past.

The tiff set the mood for the rest of the day. Everyone seemed down about something or other, and the gloomy weather hindered their spirits. It was late afternoon now, and the rain refused to give up. Richard could hear Jeremy packing his belongings noisily next door. He was doing the same, but he had stopped and picked up a photo frame from the bedside table. It was made of simple, woven thread and held a photograph of him and his family sat beside their favourite place in the Forest of Dean; a small pool of water perfect for splashing about in on a hot day. It was taken about seven years ago, when his eldest was about seven years old. The younger of his two children, Willow, could only have been about four. She had insisted on holding onto Daddy's leg, even though he was crouched. Izzy had preferred to stand tall and proud next to her extremely pretty mother. His finger wandered over the picture. He knew deep down that there was no way they would look like that now, especially Izzy who would be bordering on becoming a teenager. Taking the picture with him, he sat down at the vanity table, pulled a pen and a stack of paper towards him, and began to write.

**The Triad of Letters**

**  
James' Letter**

_  
Dearest James,_

_You should know, as a man, that it is difficult to say everything you want to say to somebody over your lifetime. It is even more nerve wracking to say them to their face. I know that I have deeply disappointed you with my attitude and the way I went about sorting my life out. You need to know that you still mean very much to me, and I still hold fond memories of you in my heart._

Like all those times we raced Jeremy. We always shared the hope, the steely determination to beat him on our plane/train/boat. And when we lost, we stood together under the clouds of uselessness and gloom for the trip home again, vowing to win next time these crazy challenges occurred. And do you remember Vietnam? Botswana? America?

_We shared all those good times together. The times which you can't enjoy on your own. They call for a special person to be there, cracking an excellent joke or amusing you until your eyes water from laughing. A best friend. I remember how enthusiastic you were when we were set the challenge of crossing the Channel, when Jeremy and I were preparing to die. I remember how annoyed I felt when we were stuck up in that plane, and everything went wrong. Or how you love to organise everything, and drink real ale because it's the drink of a 'real' man._

I guess what I'm trying to say is that I love your eccentricity. Your sense of humour is acquired rather than learned, your slow and gentle ways take the edge off mine and Jeremy's ferocious views. Without you in my life, it is like owning Porsches and Ferraris. They're all the same, nothing ever makes them stand out. But you, you're the Morgan V6 Roadster. You're classy, not trashy.

_I apologise wholeheartedly for what I put you through and I do understand if you want me to remove myself from the TV show. I cannot forgive myself for damaging our precious friendship like this. I promise to do whatever it takes to make you happy again._

_Richard_

_P.S I am so sorry for vandalising your Botswana Mercedes and your Alfa Romeo. It was me._

**Jeremy's Letter  
**

_Dearest Jeremy,_

_You may wonder why I am writing this to you, but I think it is necessary because there is so much I have not said to you, and there are some things I need to get off my chest._

For instance, I did not mean to leave you in the Makgadikgadi by yourself. I realise now that I could have left you in severe trouble. You could have died out there because of me. If I had been in that situation I would have been so pissed off that I was alone, and I would probably have died. I am amazed that you returned in such high spirits. Jeremy, I apologise profusely for that.

_On a more happier note, I sit here and think back to the day when we thought it was a good idea to tackle amphibious cars. Of course, mine sank a bit, but like a faithful old lapdog you came to rescue me, only to throw me back into the icy cold water again. We got wet, but we laughed our way through the day, me and you, together. _

_Another thing that springs to mind is the huge amount of fun we used to have in the Top Gear studio. Especially in the mornings, when we were groggy and the 20 cups of tea hadn't kicked in. Nearly every show came with a raft of outtakes nearly as long as the show itself. And every time something made you laugh, your face would crease with absolute joy and happiness. I loved that expression; to see one of my best mates having a great time always made me feel so good. _

_The thing I love about you most Jeremy, is your outspoken personality. You never went a week without making the entire crew, or audience erupt with laughter because of one of your insane quips or views. You never made sense, but you were always funny and never boring. Don't ever let society get to you, or your soul will be lost. The thing that makes you will be taken away._

_I guess I am rambling now, which means I have said all that I wish to say. Thank you for your many years of friendship, and for understanding why I did what I did._

_Richard_

**Mindy and the children's Letter**

_Dearest Mindy,_

_It has been so long since I last saw you. Not a day has gone by without me thinking of you, longing for the comfort of your embrace. But this saddens me, as I know that I am no longer worthy of your love._

_Of course, all those years ago, I didn't feel worthy of your love then. I didn't know it then, but I could have been stuck in that office forever. Until you walked in. Immediately you caught my eye, with your beautiful, blonde hair and sweet blue eyes. You were just so different to all the other women. You had a sparkling personality, your sense of humour was fantastic and your passion for animals rivalled mine. All I did for the few weeks after I arrived was think; think about how much I was in love with you, think about walking the dogs together, think about how best to go about making you mine. I was ever so nervous on that day. You have no idea how ecstatic I was when you agreed to come on a date with me, even if I didn't ask you myself.  
I remember vividly just how wonderful it felt to see you standing in the doorway in that gorgeous blue dress, your hair freshly blow-dried. You were the epitome of perfection. I don't remember much about that night, except for your soft lips on my shaky ones. It wasn't long after that I realised I had found my best friend and love for the rest of my life.  
Things just got better (and worse) for us after we moved in together. Sure, we could now share the cost of the bills, but I had followed my heart again and returned back to broadcasting. We needed something big, as we were expecting little Isabella and we weren't even married. I was stunned when I landed the job on Top Gear. Here was a way to look after the both of you, and puppy Pablo. Little did we know just how big Top Gear was going to be._

_Over the years, it just accelerated in its popularity. Jeremy, James and I became best friends both on and off the screen. We travelled all over the globe, driving exotic supercars on fantastic driving roads. Our good luck and fortune followed. Izzy was blessed with a sister and our animal menagerie swelled in size. And through everything, you have always been there by my side, looking out for me. I have never stopped loving you since that day we met, ever so many years ago. _

_But you gave me one of the biggest things a person can give to another person._

_Trust._

_And I broke your trust. But the words I write next will break your heart._

_After I tore myself away on that snowy day 5 years ago, I drove for countless miles through many towns and villages. I hardly stopped; I just kept my foot buried, no matter how much Oliver complained. It was probably a loose spark plug or something. Anyway, eventually I entered this place called Stonewell. I could tell within the first eight hundred metres that it was going to be a rough place. It wasn't meant to be where I settled, but I was approached by a man who offered me a place to stay. I took him up on that offer, and made the biggest mistake of my life.  
The flat that I stayed in was a dump. There were no carpets, all of the furniture was spartan and grubby and the smell of damp filled my nostrils all night. I tossed and turned, almost feeling sorry for myself, but deep down, I knew I had to do this. It was the first step to changing me and beating the alcoholism that ripped us apart. So, I awoke the next morning, feeling very stiff and tired (even though I had slept on a bed) and that same man was sat on the arm of the sofa. He was staring at me, unblinking and it really freaked me out. He told me to dress quickly, which I did, and he took me to a small office block on the edge of the industrious side of the town. The outside seemed just like any other office block you've ever seen, but what I found inside was rather different. I was greeted by a very portly man, who I learned was called Dex. He seemed a very jolly chap, and he couldn't wait to welcome a junior into his business. "You look capable, my son. You could really go places with your attitude!" he said to me.  
He didn't think so highly of my attitude when I refused point blank to take up his job. As I turned to leave, I came face to face with one of his henchmen. Within seconds, I was dangling from the wall by my neck, fist ready and waiting to lay into me if I dared to say no again. I was given a brass key on a loop and told to go back to my flat, which turned out to be the hell hole I had camped in the previous night. They searched me before I left, removing my wallet (which was stuffed with cash) and my mobile phone. Luckily, they didn't find Oliver's key, and after I was directed back to that disgusting flat, I set off to retrieve him from just around the corner._

_It was one of the single most distressing moments in my life. Oliver's bright, square body was missing from the kerb. I looked in the surrounding streets, praying that I had made a mistake, hoping that he was in the next street, or the next. But he was gone. I couldn't help but break into tears in the street. I truly felt like my life was ending, that everything was closing in on me and I was going to be swallowed up by those hellish streets. But I was wrong. Things got worse when night fell.  
I reported for duty like I was told at 10 o' clock sharp. I waited to open my mouth in shock and horror when I got outside into the freezing cold night. What they asked me to do was so brutal, so disgusting. And yet, I had to. I know it is really selfish of me to think like this, but I didn't want to die. It was easier to do as I was told, and I will always regret this act of cowardice. Anyway, I better bite the bullet and face up to my crimes._

_I was a prostitute and a murderer. My official title was 'Male Escort' but that's glamorising it. I would meet up with girls in back alleyways, lull them into a false sense of security by having sex with them, and then... I would kill them. They had always annoyed Dex in some way, or had managed to get one over on him. I was one of many dispatched to exact his revenge on them in this cruel, degrading way. Over the years, I estimate that I have killed close to 2000 people in this way. I have never been prosecuted as I was under the protection of a group. Now however, I am considering turning myself in. I am ashamed of myself, so much that I am still haunted at night with horrid flashbacks. I know that prison would get the better of me, but there is nothing else I can do._

_I just want to say to Izzy and Willow that I love you both with all my heart. Izzy, you remind me so much of your mother. You're the sensible one, you think like an adult. Even when you were six, you were always scolding me for doing silly things or chatting to me maturely as I worked in the comfort of our home. Willow, you always reminded me of me. You were a real Daddy's girl, nobody pushed you around. Not even the duck who took up residence in our garden. Mummy told me once when he snapped at you, and she was amazed when you swiftly smacked him back without shedding a tear. Daddy still loves you and will never forget his two special girls. He will name two stars in the night sky, and they will be my two beautiful daughters. _

_I am eternally sorry for my crimes. I will miss you and the children for the rest of my life, but I know now that a responsible father and loving husband cannot behave in the way I did. Not under any circumstances._

_If you read this, thank you for listening to the ramblings of a broken man._

_Love you forever,_

_Richard_

_X X X _

Richard awoke early the next morning, having slept fitfully through the night. The three letters lay on his bedside table, folded neatly in a pile. He slid two of them under their respective owner's doors, and pocketed the third. He breakfasted alone, enjoying the solitude of the banquet hall in the watery rays of early morning sun streaming through the large windows. His thoughts sped forward to the most important event of the day; he was going home. He tried to picture Izzy as a teenager, but she didn't look right. In his mind, she was still the seven year old girl he had left behind.  
His thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of a smartly dressed waiter at his side.  
"Can I help you?" Richard put down the spoon he had been twiddling around in his hand.  
"This arrived for you this morning." the waiter placed a white envelope on top of the empty cereal bowl and left.

Richard picked the envelope up. It was very light, and bore his name on the front. He tore open the envelope. His eyes widened in fear as the words unfolded in front of him, 'WE ARE COMING FOR YOU'. This time they had been written with a thick, black marker in clear, square handwriting. Clenching the paper tightly in his hand, Richard exited the empty banquet hall, looking all about for his culprit. He saw him coming down the stairs and ran up to him, half fearful and half angry.  
"Richard." Jeremy's voice was unusually low, his eyes fit to bursting with tears. "What's going on? Why did you need to write this?"  
"There were a lot of things I needed to get off my chest." he dismissed his questions quickly.  
"I never knew you felt this way. I didn't mean to make you feel guilty-"  
"It's not important right now."  
Jeremy's mouth fell open in surprise, but Richard ignored him.  
"Is this your idea of a joke? Because it was only funny the first time..." he tailed off, holding the offensive letter up.  
Jeremy's face contorted with confusion.  
"That wasn't me, Richard. Hand on my heart." he said sincerely.

Something snapped within Richard. He rubbed his sweaty palms together, his throat dry and his chest unbearably tight. He looked all around, as if cronies were going to burst out of the paintings or slide down the banisters and tackle him to the ground.  
"Richard, that's all in the past now. You don't need to worry about them." Jeremy placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.  
"But it isn't." he swallowed hard, "Promise me you won't tell James."  
"But-"  
"Give me your word." he stared his friend out until he nodded.  
"I, um... They didn't give me permission to leave."  
"What?"  
"I fled Elevenses. They wouldn't let me go, so I fled. I'm on the run from them."  
Jeremy's mouth fell agape.  
"What do they do if they find you?"  
"Take me back to Stonewell and finish me off."  
"Wha-? You mean, this has happened before?" Jeremy puzzled.  
"Jeremy, I was almost shot about a week ago." Richard mentioned casually. "James was the one who saved my life. And how do I repay him? By letting him watch me murder the person who wielded the gun. I got away with a black eye. That's what happens in gang warfare. You don't think rationally, and I know that James is going to need help. Yet so far I haven't done a thing to help him. That poor bugger, I don't know what he must be thinking..." he rubbed his head forcefully.  
"Richard." a crackly, muffled voice called him.

Both of them turned to face a clearly distraught James. Tears were streaming from his blue eyes, and Richard could see the letter clenched in his one hand.  
"Richard, I'm so sorry-"  
"No James. I'm the one that's sorry. Friends don't inflict experiences like that on each other. And I certainly haven't bothered to look after you." Richard held out a hand, which James shook, bringing a smile to his saddened face.  
"At least that is all over now, eh?"  
"Yeah." Richard smiled weakly.

The next few hours crawled painfully slowly for Richard. The long-awaited return to his family wasn't due to come until 2pm, but even the last ten minutes stretched out, just like the rubber band he was fiddling with. He twanged it over and over again, but there were still two minutes to go. The sleek, black Mercedes he was sat in was also towing the still broken Oliver behind them. It may have been a good five years ago, but Richard could still count down the houses until they reached Mindy's.

Inside, Izzy was playing idly with her mobile phone, sliding the interface up and down. As a twelve-year old, sociable girl any spare time spent inside the house was boring. She loved nothing more than to be out and about with her friends, discussing boys and clothes like any other girls her age. Today though, the weather was too cold for outdoor socialising, and there were no good programmes on the telly.  
"Can I have the remote, Iz?" a chirpy nine year old Willow entered the living room, seemingly happy with doing nothing.  
"Sure." Willow caught the flying remote and jumped onto the armchair with her back facing the window.  
She flicked through the channels until she settled on a programme she loved to watch every day.  
"Willow! Do we have to watch this again?" Isabella sighed, resting her head on her palm.  
"But it's our Dad!" Willow watched the TV wistfully.  
"Can you even remember him?"  
"Yeah. He always took us to school in the Porsche, and we went to that big Lake place. I love my Dad."  
Izzy sighed, but heaved herself to her feet and hugged her sister. "I love him too. But we haven't seen him for a long, long time."  
"Why?" Willow asked innocently.  
"He went bad. Mum got upset because he lost his job on the telly and then he couldn't get another, so he left us."

The room was silent for a few moments as both of the children watched the television. Yes, Izzy still did love her father, but it was hard to stop this love from dwindling when it had been so long. He never phoned or wrote, and she always felt a pang of jealousy when she saw her friends shopping in town or playing in the park with their dads. How come they had jobs, and didn't drink that foul drink her dad did?  
Willow couldn't remember very much about her Dad, but she could always remember being cuddled up with him pretty much every day of her life. He was always warm, and his hugs were gentle and comforting on a tense, achy back. She didn't really know why he left; one day Dad was there, the next he wasn't. Willow took his absence with indifference, but she would be ecstatic upon his return, if he ever did return.  
Mindy sighed deeply, putting down the plate she had been washing absent-mindedly. Life had been so lonely since Richard left. If he had been here, his arms would be wrapped around her waist, he would be nuzzling her neck and whispering sweet nothings into her ear. Nowadays, life was average. There was no magic spark, no companion to share meaningless thoughts with. Talking to two children was not the same. As if united in her thoughts, Captain huffed from his basket, his jet black nose poking over the edge. At the same time, Tee Gee rolled over onto her back, blocking the exit from the kitchen into the hall.  
"Mum." Willow stepped carefully over TG.  
"What is it, darling?" Mindy turned to her daughter.  
"Was Dad a bad man?" she asked.  
Mindy quickly hid her shocked expression. "No. He used to drink something that made him go bad, and he went away to get better."  
"How long does it take?"  
"I don't know." Mindy hugged her youngest. "I don't know, but I promise you will get to see Dad again. He still remembers you."

Their hug was abruptly halted by the dogs. Captain's ears shot up on either side of his head, TG lumbered to her feet and the other two dogs rocketed indoors from their frolic in the garden. They collected at the front door, whining and scratching the life out of it.  
"What on Earth-" Mindy mused.  
"MUM!" Izzy yelled, leaping at the front door. "DAD'S HOME!".  
She caught the handle, tearing the door open. Children and animals alike spilled onto the lawn, hurtling towards the lone figure, waiting to embrace them all with a giant smile on his face.  
The dogs reached him first, avidly sniffing his feet and leaping at his legs. He tried to pat them all at once and keeled over backwards onto the lawn. They bombarded their master with sloppy, affectionate kisses as they fought playfully for his attention. All the while, Richard was chuckling loudly and squirming wildly. Suddenly, his face was covered with soft, blonde locks. Something damp touched his cheek.  
"Daddy." Izzy's voice whimpered through her tears.  
"Oh baby. My big girl." he mumbled, holding his eldest close and letting his own tears fall onto her head.  
She nestled right up close, afraid to let go in case she lost him again so soon after she got him back. They sat up together, Izzy refusing to unwind her arms from her father's shoulders.  
"You've grown so much. You're my even bigger girl now." he drew her to arms length.  
"I'll always be your big girl. Because you'll always be my dad."  
Richard welled up. Here was one of his two beautiful daughters still proclaiming her love even after everything that had happened. His heart ached with pure, undying love for her as she stood in front of him, smiling sweetly with admiration.

Willow shot past, leaping energetically into his outstretched arms as she yelled Daddy repeatedly. She grinned cheekily at her dad.  
"Oh Daddy. Where have you been?" she stood comically with her hands on her hips, wagging a finger in Richard's direction. "We haven't seen you or Uncle Jeremy for thirty years now!"  
Richard laughed openly at her impersonation.  
"So, are you all better now?" she asked, sitting on his knee.  
"Yes. I'm all better now."  
"So that nice man doesn't have to come here again?"  
"What?" Richard said bluntly, but received no reply as she bounded across the grass to her mother.  
Mindy whispered something into Willow's ear and she ran towards the dogs, whooping and waving her hands to chivvy the dogs inside. Izzy joined in and together, they all ran inside closing the door with a bang.

The two adults stared gormlessly at each other, just a few feet standing between them. Richard raised himself to his feet, never taking his eyes off Mindy. Through everything, just her memory had kept him going, willing him on through even the deepest patches of adversity. It was with great joy and sadness that he ran towards her, vision blurring with tears. As they collided with each other, they fell to their knees, holding each other ever so tightly while sobbing into their shoulders. Richard nuzzled her soft neck, breathing in the simple smell of fresh skin. He could feel her tears on his cheek; the years of solitude, confusion and longing to be held by the only important male figure left in her life.  
"Hello, baby." he whispered, drawing level with Mindy's glazed eyes.  
Her lips formed a small smile. "Hello. I knew you would come back."  
The temptation grew too strong for Richard to bear. He kissed her softly, running his fingers through her long, wavy locks. He closed his eyes, savouring every touch and every sense. He groaned inwardly when it all stopped, but he opened his eyes and his resplendent wife was still there, looking deeply into his eyes.  
"God, I love you." he said aloud this time.  
"God, I love you too." Mindy replied, kissing him lightly again.

The girls gawped out of the window. Both of them hung on for dear life on either side of the armchair in the window.  
"Aw, look. Mum and Dad are kissing." Izzy pointed out.  
"I'm confused. So who is that other man?" Willow scratched her head with her free hand.  
"Wil, he's nothing to us. He looked after the house while Dad was away."  
"But Mum kissed him too! I thought she only kissed Dad."  
"Yeah, well, she does. You better not go and spoil everything." Izzy warned her sister. "You wouldn't want to upset Dad would you?"  
Willow appeared mildly upset, but nodded her head.  
"Good." Isabella turned back to the window. "I wonder what they're talking about.

"I'm so sorry, darling. I didn't want to hurt you any more than I already had." Richard had found the courage to stand, and he did, his arms lightly holding his wife's waist.  
"I know baby. I know." Mindy muttered, embracing Richard in a warm hug.  
As her hands found his back, the letter in his back pocket crumpled slightly, reminding Richard of its presence. His lead heart dropped quickly inside.  
"Mind, there's something I have to give you." he pulled the folded paper from his pocket and placed it into her hand. "And before you read it, I'm so sorry. I understand if you can't forgive me."  
Mindy watched bemusedly as Richard walked towards the house. As he reached the front door, he turned to face her.  
"Can I go in?" he asked.  
Mindy averted her eyes to the floor. "Of course you can. You don't need to ask." she muttered the last part forlornly to herself.  
For a few minutes, Mindy stood stock still as she read the letter. As she read further down the page, she clapped a hand to her mouth. The slightly smudged handwriting dampened under Mindy's fresh tears. She let them fall in shock and sympathy for her poor husband.

"I missed you Dad." Izzy mumbled into Richard's shoulder.  
"I know Iz. I know." he patted her gently on the back. "I've missed you two growing up."  
"It wasn't anything special." Izzy shrugged.  
"Maybe not to you, but to a parent...it means a lot." he sniffed.  
Willow snuggled further into his grey fleece, breathing in the paternal scent she knew from when she was a baby. Richard cradled her, secretly afraid of losing his baby girl forever. All three of them looked up when the front door slammed shut, and Richard's heart sank even further when Mindy stormed up the stairs, shielding her face.  
"What's the matter with Mummy?" Willow asked, a trace of fear in her voice.  
"Maybe I should go see her." Izzy stood up.  
"No." Richard muttered quietly. "Let's leave Mum to rest. It's been a tiring day for all of us, hasn't it?"  
Izzy nodded obediently. Willow did not respond.  
"What do we want for tea, girls?" right on cue, a stomach gurgled noisily.  
"Can I have a sandwich?"  
"Of course Iz. Willow, what do you want?"  
Silence. Richard could not see her small, crumpled face, fighting with all her might to hide the tiny tears of frustration. She felt Dad's hands on her shoulders, and she looked up into his identical eyes.  
"Baby?"  
"I just want a sandwich." she mumbled, escaping his grip and going to stroke TeeGee.  
After a brief, worrying glance at Willow, he left them to go and make their sandwiches.

Dinner was a quiet affair. Richard had stood at the foot of the stairs and called Mindy, but she had refused silently to emerge. Instead, him and the children chewed their sandwiches slowly in silence. The only noise was the wet sounds of four dogs lapping up their meals, which subsided into awkward, unwelcome silence within minutes. Richard replaced this silence with the clattering of plates as he washed them absent-mindedly.  
"Dad?" Willow asked uncertainly.  
"Yes?" Richard turned to his daughters.  
"You still love us, don't you?"  
He looked from one to the other reproachfully. "Of course I do. You mean everything to me."  
"Good. Because we love you too, Dad." Izzy finished.  
It was a comment that made the outside smile, but the inside frown even harder. It had been hard enough tearing himself away; now it seemed that departure was once again imminent. With the children occupied in the front room, Richard tiptoed upstairs, placed a hand on the doorknob to the bedroom and gently slid the door open.  
He wasn't quite ready for the sight he was greeted with. Mindy lay on her side with her back to Richard. He could see the letter poking out from under the pillow that marked the side which he used to sleep on. He looked at the empty space, and her, and became eclipsed by the moment. His entire future revolved around the words ready to be exchanged in the room. He perched himself on the edge of the bed, placing a shaky hand on Mindy's shoulder. To his absolute relief, her soft fingers intertwined with his rough ones.  
"Mindy?"  
She rolled over into Richard's waiting arms and sat herself up properly. Her blue eyes were still damp.  
"Richard." she sighed, "I don't know what to say. That letter..."  
He took Mindy's hands in his. "Just say anything. Please don't give me silence. I can't bear the disappointment it brings."  
She faltered, letting her speech stutter. "I d-didn't think you would be capable-"  
"Neither did I. I'm not proud of what I've done, y'know."  
"There's something I don't understand, though." she frowned, "Why aren't you in prison? Surely you would have been caught by now?"  
"Gang protection. We were too smart for the police. They knew what we were doing, but they could never catch us in the act, because you treat everyone as if they're your only brother."  
"Oh." she said simply.  
The silence played loudly in their ears for a moment.  
"Baby, um...Willow mentioned something earlier about a man."  
"She means Jeff." she paused, matching his suspicious stare, "He's been great, keeping the house in working order."  
"As long as that's all he's been doing." he muttered.  
"Richard! Frankly, I don't think you're in a position to make comments like that." she scolded.  
Richard looked away.  
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean that."  
She pulled away from his arms.  
"I don't want you near me tonight."  
"But-"  
"You can sleep on the sofa." she finished with a heavy sigh.  
It was a couple of minutes before Mindy felt Richard's weight shift from the bed, and she heard the door open.  
"I love you." he spoke softly, closing the door gently on his way out.

The wind whistled in a low pitch past the window, sending the trees into vicious shivers each time it passed. Their sharp, skinny fingers waved through the curtains. Richard rolled onto his side for the Goodness-knows-how-many-time that evening. He snuggled his head harder into the flat cushion, mumbling through the barrier of half-sleep. Captain whimpered, his hind left leg twitching as he lay flat on his back, sleeping no trouble at all.  
Richard wished he was upstairs in the comfy, warm environment of the double bed. Instead, he was wrapped tightly in a tatty blanket, burying his head in a thin cushion and trying not to catch himself on the zips of the sofa cushions. The prickly heat from the blanket made his neck itch constantly, but the surging winds outside made it too cold for him to do without. He closed his eyes tightly. Something in the house creaked. A pet snuffled noisily. Richard threw the blanket from himself, frustrated because sleep was evading him that night. He curled up in the armchair by the window, wide awake. His body was confused.  
_Why am I inside at this time of night? _bad Richard asked his better self.  
_Because our criminal days are over. Get to sleep._  
_But I can't. It's too early yet._ the voice whined in his ear.  
_Try._

After walking around the sofa several times and staring outside at the eerie, moonlit gardens, Richard finally felt his eyes rolling shut. The rhythmic breathing of Tee Gee had finally lulled him into slumber, where he lay next to her, his fingers across her belly. Upstairs, Mindy hiccoughed louder than she had intended. Her eyes stung as she wiped them with her hand yet again. It repulsed her to know that she was harbouring a mass-scale murderer, but that mass-scale murderer was her husband and a dedicated father. She desperately wanted to hate him, to react like any normal being would. Yet she couldn't bring herself to ignore him. She buried her face beneath the covers, holding Richard's pillow to her and imagining as hard as she could his warm hands around her. All the while her brain whirred, darting from good side to bad, asking questions she couldn't answer.

Morning broke over the divided Hammond household. Richard awoke after a swift licking from Tee Gee, whereas Mindy received the more pleasant wakeup call from the alarm clock. She had to stretch right across the empty bed to reach it, and with a sharp pang all of her feelings made themselves known once again. On the spur of the moment she rushed downstairs, still in her nightdress, but something held her back when she stopped, hand hovering in midair above the door handle to the living room. She composed herself, painting a look of indifference upon her face.  
Richard looked up expectantly as the door opened.  
"Morning." he smiled.  
"Morning. Did you sleep well?"  
Damn, she thought. Did that sound too caring?  
"Yeah, it was okay. Did you sleep alright?" he asked.  
"Oh, um-yes I did. Breakfast?  
"Yes please."  
She smiled as she promptly exited.  
Richard wolfed down his two pieces of toast, and was draining the last drops of tea before Mindy had barely finished her first piece of toast. He twiddled his thumbs, trying hard not to make eye contact with her as she slowly nibbled away at her food. He didn't quite know what to say, or where he stood. He hoped and prayed with every fibre of his being as she washed the plates, that she would turn around and say that everything was going to be okay and that they still loved each other.  
"Why have you got your eyes closed?" she ruffled his hair playfully. "Silly boy."  
"I didn't notice. I was too busy thinking."  
"About what?" she seated herself opposite him.  
"Us."  
"You, expect me to forgive you like that." she snapped her fingers, "and I wish I could. But Richard, this is big. What if you get arrested? I don't think we'll be able to live without you again-"  
"I won't get arrested."  
Silence descended between them. Their eyes wouldn't connect, their hands fidgeted on the table.  
"I still love you. Do you know that? I know I shouldn't, but," she hesitated, "I do."  
"Mind." he sighed, taking her hands, "I know what I did was fundamentally wrong and truly awful, but I didn't want to do it. I didn't leave here to join a crime syndicate."  
"I don't know. I just don't know." she shook her head.  
"What can I do, baby? I'll do anything to help. Just tell me what you need."  
"Time." she said simply. "Don't know how much. I just need to sort my head out."


End file.
